The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.
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