Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. Her eye met his four inches away, and his was glaring, immense, and full of resolution, a stupendous monster of an eye. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head. I can save you, and will. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs.
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