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. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. “Well,” she said.
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