Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. "I imagine I must have a hundred rolls—all the old fellows.
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