‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. 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. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage.
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