’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. And why, after all, should she not borrow money from Ramage? It was so true what he said; middle-class people WERE ridiculously squeamish about money. "Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. She ought to have leapt back on guard. The man pulled up. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. He saw the colossal selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of abnormality.
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