“I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. “Serves you right if I’d cracked your skull. The annihilation of the Terror which fascinated her and troubled her dreams o' nights. Squads reached to the very portal of that centre of disturbance. “I had to. 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. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object.
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