The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. ‘Yes, only that this consolation he had found before he married my mother. "Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs. “Annabel;” he moaned. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. Next moment, he had Melusine by the arm. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. And it is not at all his affair.
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