” She wondered how much history she could reinvent before losing track of her own lies. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. 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. But let the horses be in readiness. I should have gone mad without it. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her.
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