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. Tell me what you think the island is like. I meant mischief. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used.
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