She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. “You must pack for me. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. “You shall drive home with me in a hansom, if you will. ’ *** 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. . Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees.
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