She was too late. ‘Dunderhead. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. 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.
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