Come and see him, Lucia. ” Lucy cried, drawing attention from the somber crowd. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. 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. I do not intend to be married, or to become engaged just at present. ” “Why?” “If I were bad at it, you would be on your way to the hospital by now. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia.
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