Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. 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. Arrived at the extremity of the building, he found that it overlooked the flat-roof of a house which, as far as he could judge in the darkness, lay at a depth of about twenty feet below. She had animated dark blue-gray eyes under her fine eyebrows, and dark brown hair that rolled back simply and effectively from her broad low forehead. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. She was struck by a change in his appearance. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood.
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