Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. It is no good going into that. 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. God, Lucy, that’s the stuff people wear to Phys. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze.
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