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. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said. Manning displayed distress. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials.
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