“That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. "There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in. She throws a sort of spell over us all. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. He walked hastily to the side of the broad pavement and summoned a fiacre. “Well, look who’s here! Welcome, Lucy, I heard the performance was spectacular.
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