’ *** 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. "Constance—or, rather, Mrs. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. She saw it, and checked without thinking. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. "Let us sit here," she said, indicating the white sand bordering the lagoon; "and in a minute or two you will see something quite wonderful. , and get some other man to live on as soon as possible. No one will ever love you as I love you now. " "You look pretty fit.
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