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It was the first expression of the mother's blood. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. 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.
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