There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. 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. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. CHAPTER XXII. He drew her closer.
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