There were shadows under his eyes. 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. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow.
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