Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. ’ *** 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 a dead calm. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought.
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