“I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. It was 1582. He did everything. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. " "He then," continued the woollen-draper, "is no longer considered—" "How, Sir?" cried Thames, advancing, "what is the meaning of your reference to my name? Have you dared to insult this lady? If so—" "Insult her!" replied Kneebone, rising, and endeavouring to hide his embarrassment under a look of defiance.
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