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. “Dear husband,” she murmured. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. ’ Much to Melusine’s chagrin, Gerald folded his arms and leaned back, as if wholly at his ease.
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