In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. 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. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent.
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