FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. ‘She knows what she’s up against. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. “I see the difficulty. "You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. “Let me help you,” he begged. You will observe that a coronet is embroidered on it. I want to make myself visible to you.
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