I was grounded for the last two weeks. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. 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. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections.
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