The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. 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. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. Because for the punishments je m’en moque.
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