"That's for myself," rejoined Mrs. ’ Gerald raised his brows. They were horrible people. 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. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred. I asked her to marry me, and she consented.
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