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She glared at him with satisfaction. 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. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. ‘It is, you understand, that Monsieur Charvill did not—how do you say in English?—having an eye to an eye—’ ‘Didn’t see eye to eye with the Vicomte Valade? That I can well believe.
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