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These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. ’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe.
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