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. They set about everyone—everyone. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. Just what it means. I know my son's voice too well. Could she go through with it? She must. . Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. What she said is true. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her.
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