" "Perhaps I'm too tired to plan for to-morrow. ’ *** 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. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. She could tell that he was leering at her.
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