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. “You know what? You’re right. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. Goopes said that we must distinguish between sincerity and irony, which was often indeed no more than sincerity at the sublimated level. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid.
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