He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. Her sister had told him that it was true. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. ’ *** 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. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. “For nothing, do you call it?” he declared. You cannot—shall not retreat. I shall never come back. For Mr Jarvis was beside himself when the letter come from Mr Charvill and he knew he’d lost you as well as Miss Mary. At least for one moment, it was. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted.
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