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. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. "You may die afterwards as soon as you please," retorted Jonathan; "but live till then you shall. At breakfast both of them played their parts skillfully. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought.
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