’ *** 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. One might suppose him turning up; he knew a lot of clever people, and some of them might belong to the class. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. Waving a white flag, naturally. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple.
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