Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. No, this was not reasonable. Only I am not an acquaintance at all. At the precise period of this history, the Jacobite party was full of hope and confidence.
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