The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache. It’s just because all that side of your life hasn’t fairly begun. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad. ‘And that Suzanne, the sister of my cousin the vicomte, must choose between Monsieur Charvill and her brother.
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