” “I cannot let you go on,” Ennison interrupted. This is my friend, Mr. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark.
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