She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. But he knew. She felt sickeningly empty. It is not so. 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.
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