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. Norris. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. ‘Not entirely English then. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. I don't threaten idly, as you know. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent.
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