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Updated: June 11, 2025
And a pinch coming on in Threadneedle Street, I hear but I scarcely know what I am saying, miss; I was thinking of the camel and the needle." "I will not repeat what you have not meant to tell," I answered, seeing his confusion, and the clumsy turn he had made of it. "Only tell me what dear Mr. Shovelin died of." "Heart-disease, miss. You might know in a moment. Nothing kills like that.
And when the jury came back the stranger was at once ushered into the witness-box, and the Coroner turned to the jury and the court. "We are unexpectedly able to get some evidence of identity, gentlemen," he observed. "The gentleman who has just stepped into the witness-box is Mr. Alexander Chilstone, manager of the London & Colonies Bank, in Threadneedle Street. Mr.
I have a friend, a City man, whom I meet occasionally. One of his most ardent passions in life is to make my fortune. He button-holes me in Threadneedle Street. "The very man I wanted to see," he says; "I'm going to let you in for a good thing. We are getting up a little syndicate."
The author's large, grave features relaxed in a smile of amusement as he nodded his approval of the plan. 'We do not represent the press, answered the man. 'Ah! Indeed? How very odd! But of course Logotheti pretended to understand suddenly 'how stupid of me! No doubt you are from the bank. Am I not right? 'No. You are mistaken. We are not from Threadneedle Street.
Threadneedle Street, the glass and mahogany walled corridors, and the moral atmosphere of them money-getting and of this world conspicuously worldly were not these ironically antagonistic to the journey upon which he had set forth and the habit of mind necessary to the successful prosecution of it? There was Poppy St.
It's made of fine gold, and it's not broke, though there's a hole in the middle of it, and it's stronger than any fetter that was ever forged. What else is it? I'll tell you. It's a hoop of solid gold wrapped in a silver curl-paper that I myself took off the shining locks of the ever-beautiful old lady in Threadneedle Street, London city.
You are in the rapids metaphorically speaking as you crawl down Cheapside; and here where the Bank of England and the Mansion House rise sheer and awful from, shall we say, this boiling caldron, this 'hell' of angry meeting waters Threadneedle Street and Cornhill, Queen Victoria Street and Cheapside, each 'running, again metaphorically, 'like a mill-race' here in this wild maelstrom of human life and human conveyances, here is the true 'Niagara in London, here are the most wonderful falls in the world the London Falls.
They drove straight to the City: the clerk, with a knife pricking the back of his neck all the time, finding it, no doubt, a tiresome ride. In the middle of Threadneedle Street, the gentlemanly young man suddenly stopped the cab and got out, leaving the clerk to pay the cabman. "Somehow or other, the story brought back Joseph to my mind.
A week passed, and in the interval Tom and I made several discoveries. In the first place, to our great relief, we discovered that the bank-notes were received in Threadneedle Street without question or demur. Secondly, we found our present lodgings narrow, and therefore moved westward to St. James's.
Weel, that nicht I was passing through Threadneedle street, hard by the Bank of England, that great, grey building o' stane. And suddenly, on the pavement, I saw them twa young things, glad o' the stillness, his arm aboot her waist, their een turned upon one another, thinking o' nothing else and no one else i' a' the world. I was sae sorry for them, puir weans!
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