A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. ‘You are related to General Lord Charvill?’ ‘Monsieur le baron, he is my grandpére,’ she confirmed. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The delay was only momentary. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest.
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