’ *** 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. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer.
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