“My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. I was resolved to see you. ‘Eh bien, pig. "Oh! Sir, if you'd seen her as I've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery. It was a haunted place. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. I haven’t, anyhow. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. 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.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDEzLjU5LjY2LjEwNCAtIDI5LTA2LTIwMjQgMDY6MjE6MzIgLSAxNDg1OTQwMzM0
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