"I understand, Sir," replied Davies, drawing a little aside. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. "Where are you going?" cried Thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him.
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