We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. The evenings were dulcet and soft. 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. Her pa was only the smithy. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day.
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