A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. “And if she can’t have the right one? “We’ve developed such a quality of preference!” She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead. “I wish I didn’t swear. 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. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked.
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