She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. “Well, you’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room, but did I show you the basement?” He asked. ‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side.
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