’ *** 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. After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. It would hurt no one. "Spring!—I never knew any. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol.
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