“My dear sweet Lucia. 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. "At least I'll try," replied Jonathan, sarcastically. "His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. Maggot had disappeared. But she was only able to save a corner of the letter. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library.
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