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That was the glorious if bewildering truth. 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. " "How does Jack bear it?" inquired Mrs. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me. Lucy was silent. "If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth.
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