"And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. It makes wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good enough for Punch. ‘Certainly, if I was a nun, I know of many good names. ” There came a silence again. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax.
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