’ *** 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. Silk. I had been about as foolish and selfish as a girl could be. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. I simply warn you. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. He gave her silence in return.
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