“I wrote it for you. \"I’ve never been to any of Lincoln’s dances. 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. Suspending his labour on Jack's appearance, the man demanded his business. A door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded from within, that this chamber was occupied by the Marquis and his friends. There is nobody, then?" "Oh, there is an aunt. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face.
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