Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. I must provide for my safety. ’ *** 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 was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. He feared to antagonize that distinguished person.
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