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The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s lips twitched. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. ” “It is my wish to be alone,” she said wearily. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs. "Mine died while I was over here. " Some innate sense of balance told her that something was wrong with these tales.
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