The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. “Have to go now. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. . He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. It did not occur to her that they at least had found a way of earning a living, and had that much economic superiority to herself.
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