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. There's more than I undertook to bring. He turned his back on that temptation. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. “You are a funny, a very funny young lady,” he said, “but we waste time here. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns joss-sticks.
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