“Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. ” It was as if she faced a darkness in which was something very beautiful and wonderful as yet unimagined. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark.
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