‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. Pretty good stuff, some of it. His suspicions at first fell upon you. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. I do not even know his name.
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