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. It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. "And you would surrender yourself —eh?" "I'll surrender myself at once, if you'll engage to bring him off; and you'll get the reward from old Wood. Petals!. “Yes, but maybe later. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. ‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand.
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