Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. 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. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. Only after he had pushed himself completely inside was the friction lessened. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me.
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