She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. 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. ‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not. But men are so careless, there's no trusting anything to them! However, I must try to brazen it out. No, don’t interrupt me. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. F. There's a man dying—Captain Darrell. . I don’t quite know why.
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