Manning’s handwriting had an air of being clear without being easily legible; it was large and rather roundish, with a lack of definition about the letters and a disposition to treat the large ones as liberal-minded people nowadays treat opinions, as all amounting to the same thing really—a yearssmoothed boyish rather than an adult hand. She had gladly lowered her eyes as she had been instructed to in front of the fine ladies and lords, as she was more interested in their clothing and fripperies than their faces. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. "I'll make a sketch, too," he said. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. 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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