ToC On the night of Friday, the 26th of November, 1703, and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the Borough of Southwark, known as the Old Mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. There was another phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. ” He faced her doggedly. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. The prisoner was then thrust in by Quilt. Courtlaw,” she remarked. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers.
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