John’s best friend’s parents were to be out of town again, he reported. He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. He drew her closer. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. Prudence reminded him that he was a county magistrate, and parliamentary candidate for a somewhat difficult borough, where his principal supporters were dissenters of strict principles who took a zealous interest in his moral character. You must let me do whatever I can for you. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. You care for me a little, I know.
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