Every gibbet at Tyburn and Hounslow appeared to have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day. They knew they were all Bogey in disguise. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. . ’ They passed through a little antechamber, and Melusine sighed with relief as she entered the library next door. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford.
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