’ *** 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. I wish she wouldn’t look like that at us over her glasses. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. You think you will.
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