She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark.
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