A fine doctor from the Arte de Medici e Speziali was commissioned directly from Rome to oversee her 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 can’t you take me with you?” He begged. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. “You’re kidding, right?” “Not kidding at all. “Go on!” she commanded. Besides—there is Sir John.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 20-09-2024 06:37:54
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