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. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. "For the caption!" replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued.
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