The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. “Going to visit our little friend the vampire?” “What?” He asked, incredulous.
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