‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. “Take off your tunic. " "Curse on, and welcome," jeered Wild. 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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