Lucy entered the room. I'm about to ring for supper. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. Mr. Saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. They walked side by side for a time. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. 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. That “entirely English” comment was said just to provoke me. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver unnoticeably. Now, no more questions, or I shall be forced to leave the room. ’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie.
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