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. “Go it, miss!” cried one. It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. But a man’s opposition always inclined her to the suffrage side; she had a curious feeling of loyalty in seeing the more aggressive women through. Disappointed puppy-love, and all that.
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