She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. “Very well,” he said. Lord Charvill’s sense of justice would not, however, allow him to repudiate his granddaughter, if indeed this female proved to be the infant lost to the family so many years ago.
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