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. That’s why he was so annoyed, you know. He felt her observance and warmed to it. She goes out and comes home. But probably not the truth. They sucked face and felt each other up, or something. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. He has had brain fever since, and, as you say, I am more like what you were then than you yourself are now.
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