’ *** 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. ‘But then again, possibly not. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. “It’s best,” he said, “to make it a good round sum.
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