Ann Veronica tried to keep hold of a complicated situation and not lose her head. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. " The hint was not lost upon Wood. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. She limited herself to eating once a fortnight, until she discovered that she could go without comfortably for a month. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards.
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