Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. Prudence shook her head. 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. He began to tell me something—and stopped.
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