Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. 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. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. I hate what I am.
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