Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. It was for ever. "More slang," he said. After the sights he would have to twiddle his thumbs until the joints cracked. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. But he had been forewarned by his great-nephew.
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