The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. You are the High Priestess of Life. Nuns, I mean. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. "The devil you have! Then, perhaps, you can tell me when he intends to put his threat into execution?" "What threat?" asked Jackson. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams.
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