’ *** 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. He not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. He brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely anywhere. I believe that his recovery was considered almost miraculous.
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