She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. 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. It will do its best to overlook things—” “If we let it, poor dear. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it.
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