“He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. . She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. Fiercely defensive, as usual. You are my prisoner, murderer. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed.
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