’ *** 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. It was the gratification of an immense necessity. "Think of me forgetting ten thousand so quickly!" "Go to, you old fraud! You'll never fool me again. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat.
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