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. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. “Come on in, Michelle. You did not see me, I know. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head.
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