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. "Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, for all things great and small that make us what we are. Strict Catholics, and loyal to the backbone. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. He was completely, devastatingly handsome.
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