In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. "On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. 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. She tried not to notice how much attention Martin Chen had been paying her, but he had been bold enough to speak to her the other day.
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