“But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. “The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. 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.
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