“It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends. Is that it? I thought this very pretty. Kneebone nodded. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. 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. “Katy Pfister.
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