The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. ” “There was no marriage,” she answered. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. ’ ‘Indeed?’ said Gerald, surprised. Trees were torn up by the roots; many houses were levelled to the ground; others were unroofed; the leads on the churches were ripped off, and "shrivelled up like scrolls of parchment. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest.
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