A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. It was time to leave America. 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. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. "Enough's as good as a feast.
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