’ *** 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. “Homely?” “Well, yeah, that’s what he said. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. “Let’s go in here. But he might have crept along the left side of the pier, and beneath the further arch; whereas, Wood, as we have seen, took his course upon the right. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. At any rate, he began to deliberately personate him.
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