I’m glad I did. 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. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett.
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