The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. See paragraph 1. She glanced into his face. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. A door slammed. ’ *** 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. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. She had the dowry she needed for the lawyers were working to give her Remenham House. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said.
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