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. Mr. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. It now occurred to him that she had always been fully dressed. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. In the interim, Jack advanced to the woollen-draper, and regarding him sternly, thus addressed him: "You have violated the laws of hospitality, Mr. Wait a moment.
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