” “Not long ago,” she said, “you left me in anger, partly because of this exchange of identities between Annabel and myself. it’s open. 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. The world isn’t ready for girls to start out on their own yet; that’s the plain fact of the case. Seeing her improved mood, he had offered the Latin reading lesson strategically, knowing it would surprise her that he considered her capable. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. We’ll have some buttered toast. After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. Nigel Ennison, Annabel.
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