This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. 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. Her head dipped deeply into the current, and she narrowly escaped being swamped. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. ’ ‘A mistake, I agree.
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