And the less “anything” happened the better. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. 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. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough.
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