"I understand, Sir," replied Davies, drawing a little aside. They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. Profoundly. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. She looked up, and recognized Mr.
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