“I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTMzLjEzMy4xMTcgLSAyNi0wNi0yMDI0IDIwOjI2OjI5IC0gMTgwMzcwMzMyNQ==
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