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. A. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Abruptly he gripped her wrist. “I wouldn’t make this objection,” Mr. Will I meet you there?’ ‘Yes, yes, I shall await you. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present.
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