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. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. “We will see that he never annoys you. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. ” “Why should I? I have told you that I do not wish for acquaintances in London. “That cannot happen!” She replied, feeling her world start to disintegrate underneath her feet.
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