"I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. " The doctor hesitated, puffing his tobacco hastily. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment. She made a step forward. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this difficulty.
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