So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. As sure as he is now living, I'll pay him a visit in the Old Bailey before morning. 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.
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