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. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me. But I'll not believe it of you. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. By various twistings and turnings, during all which time his pursuers, who were greatly increased in numbers, kept him in view, he reached Gray's-Inn-lane. It isn’t all.
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