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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. "Are you sure these bars touch the ground?" "They come within a yard of it," answered Jonathan. "I'll tote the odiousness outside. ‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. ” “I am frightened of Sir John,” he said, “but I suggest that we risk it. ‘I did not think so. "No," replied Jonathan, "I'll not take you at your word, as regards the latter proposition. "Then you haven't heard?" "Of what?" "Well, well!" cried the manager, delighted at the idea of surprising the doctor. “And then?” said Ann Veronica.
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