" The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. "I should like to know where Mr. He couldn't have taken Mr. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. I must finish it at home.
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