” She laughed softly to herself. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. 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. In this part of the world it is wise never to be separated from your luggage. It also told you how to write on all occasions, how to take out a patent, how to doctor a horse, and who Achates was. “Women are mocked,” she said.
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