. 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. All the best novels have been written by women, and yet see how men sneer at the lady novelist still! There’s only one way to get on for a woman, and that is to please men. ‘That is very sensible, mon capitaine. I met you here as Lady Ferringhall. " "Your hesitation is not in your favour," observed Trenchard, sternly. " "Thank'ee,—thank'ee.
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