‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. She loved her mother Marina more than any other thing in the world and could not bear to speak to her for a fortnight after being told her fate. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. He brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely anywhere. She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom.
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