The others hurried to the window. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. But at the word “home” she turned again. ToC Mrs. Wood in the deepest mourning. 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. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. When the lad is fit to be moved, we’ll bring him home. I was visiting the royal family, as they sought me for a tutor for their sons over the summer. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers.
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