She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. 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. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. We are off for a second honeymoon. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. We already had a place to mislay blame.
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