We’ll be somewhere on the floor above. 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. ’ No Latin? And no guns or daggers, naturally. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Moving room to room it was. Warding off the blows as well as he could with the bar, Jack struck both the horses on the head, and the animals plunged so violently, that they not only prevented their riders from assailing him, but also kept off the hostlers; and, in the confusion that ensued, Jack managed to spring over the fence, and shaped his course across the field in the direction of Sir John Oldcastle's. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise. ‘Parbleu, is this a moment to be out of town? What is the matter with him that he is out of town when I need him?’ ‘Famous!’ uttered a new voice from the doorway.
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