‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. “He is one of our guests—perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time. Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. Mike dismissed her with a wave, and she left the room, knowing she could not say anything to please him she swiftly left the room. Wasn't the river beautiful under the moonlight?" "We did not leave our cabins. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him.
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