Part 2 She found the younger generation of the Widgetts engaged in languid reminiscences, and all, as they expressed it, a “bit decayed. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. Sit down, I command you. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. Wood," said the lady bridling up, "my request may, perhaps, have some weight with you. “After all, it’s our honeymoon. ’ ‘Pah!’ ‘Precisely. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. 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.
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