Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. 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. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh.
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