Bird, the turner, to give him an order this evening. I shall ride to St. Spurling. 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. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up.
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