He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. " He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. 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.
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