The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. ” “It would be my pleasure, madame. “Thanks to you. ” He answered as they hauled huge remainders of stumps and ragged rocks to the grave to make it difficult to trespass upon. His food lay untouched about his plate.
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