’ *** 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. And then, as she answered nothing, “Seeing that we are lovers. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent.
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