’ *** 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. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh. “So that’s the way it is. Fortescue, with a bow. But Jonathan was not to be deterred. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you.
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