‘You ain’t got nothing on me. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. 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. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly.
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