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. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. END OF THE SECOND EPOCH.
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