’ *** 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. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. To have the present lengthen into years! But in a few hours she would be upon her way, far lonelier than she had ever been. We shall be equally matched. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. .
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