At last, she breathed. ’ Melusine rose from her chair in sudden irritation. 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. The visitor was the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctor was ready for her. And taking the keys, he departed on the errand.
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