You don’t have to live forever to understand that. She twisted her fingers tightly. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. 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. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. It was a “territory” back then, and many a Frenchman and a Redskin both had been devoured in those caves.
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