Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. "He has heard of your wonderful escapes, and wishes to see what you're like. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. “He is evidently a friend of Mrs. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. I simply warn you. .
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