’ *** 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. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me.
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