I’m not discussing Shakespeare. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. "Your ladyship has never been well since you married Sir Cecil," rejoined Mrs. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul.
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