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The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. Through no fault of her own. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. " Silence. The foremost, tall, clean-shaven, perfectly groomed, half extended his hand with a smile of recognition. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. .
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