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ToC On the night of Friday, the 26th of November, 1703, and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the Borough of Southwark, known as the Old Mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. “You are magnificent,” she said, “but the steel of your truth is a little oversharpened. She is a magician sought by all.
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