Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. "Past noon," replied Blueskin. By following her he had discovered her secret nook in the rocks.
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