’ *** 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. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. Ray did not pace, he just stood. You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me.
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