The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. I. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. “I have been very selfish,” she declared.
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