So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. 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.
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