"An hour hence, I shall be beyond your malice," said Mrs. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. " "It's Jonathan Wild," returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him. 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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