And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. 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. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine.
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