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. What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his. "You have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable. “Have you not heard?” she said. She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. “Rhea will return soon.
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