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. "Like master like man," observed Jack as he rolled the inanimate body to the side of the road. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. “What did it matter?” she cried. \"Let's get out of here. Very good.
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