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. A dissipated, loose-living man. “Lucy! Where is my daughter? Where have you. " "What?" "We'll put those stories back into the trunk and never speak of them to him. ” “But Hainault—assured—me—that the marriage was binding.
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