’ *** 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. It was perfectly logical. ’ ‘She once more,’ came in disgust from the girl on the bed. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night.
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