She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. "Utterly," reiterated Jack, gloomily,—"as regards all I hold dear. 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. Now tell them why. Wood in a sharp tone. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray.
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