Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind. His sister followed. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved.
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