It rather astonished him. 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. One doesn’t realize that even the sort of civilization one has at Morningside Park is held together with difficulty. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. "By the powers!" he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, "he's a nice gennteel-lookin' kiddy, I must say. I want to be whatever I can to you. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup.
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