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He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. Burn your palette and your easel. ‘That I do not yet know. It drives him to my island, where I can study him to my heart's content. And for many years, that was the way it was. 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.
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