" "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. The night was now profoundly dark. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. ’ *** 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.
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