’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. The boy was right. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket.
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