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. It was after all a momentary affair. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. I don’t wish to marry you at all. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. And I’m afraid. ” “Please get off at the next exit.
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