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. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. Not a bark could be discerned on the river, except those already mentioned. “Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair. Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture.
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