‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. 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. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. E. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable.
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