For freedom at least. 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. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. "At the Black Lion in our street," replied Jack, without hesitation. The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. I’m glad you’re back for all sorts of reasons.
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