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. The boss says to me: 'Higg, here's a guy we want back. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd.
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