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“It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. It does not matter to him either way. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere. But this is not sufficient. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. It's infernally provoking. ‘All these soldiers,’ she complained, adding with a sweep of one arm at the major’s dress, ‘all of them in red as you. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. 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.
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