The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. I am up to the ears in it all— every moment I can spare. “Those things are arranged more easily in any other country than England. " "'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold. " "Your husband?" "No. Something tells me I am rushing on greater danger. Do you remember what I said when you took me at the Mint four days ago? I told you my turn would come. She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed.
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