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. In a sense it alters nothing. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. “You!” said Ann Veronica. “Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about.
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