Presently. A nod was exchanged. ’ He sighed elaborately. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. “It was my sister Anna. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day.
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