Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark.
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