A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. 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. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends. I'll call for you after lunch.
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