The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. ‘And I have a very good mind to kill you. I am not boring you, am I?” She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. His face clouded with anger. ‘You are not the only one to seek them out,’ he said. 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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