The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. You have to marry me. Who invented them? Nobody knows. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant.
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