So Mrs. 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. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable. Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react.
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