"What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. “I don’t know, John. “You too sing?” he asked. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. Charvill’s fury was burning out.
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