For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. 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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