His voice cut the air, “look only at the mantle-shelf, and do not release your grip, or I shall add another stroke for each time you do so and we do...’t want that do we?” through a vail of tears she grunted “no sir!” but prayed that she could be strong enough to stay the course. She focused on the clock, its little balls swinging to and fro, in its glass dome, regular and steady, its hands reading a quarter to five as the horrible secretary lifted her skirt folding it onto her back, cool air. After a cheerless Christmas I was packing what few things were clearly mine and not the estate’s under the cousin’s watchful presence when I had a visitor: Sir Thomas Dalrymple.Sir Thomas Dalrymple, Bart., had a large estate north and west of Ludlow, hard over on the Shropshire border, at the foot of the Welsh mountains. The estate had been in his family for centuries and they had fended of Welsh invaders when that country had been an independent principality. It comprised three valleys running. More

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