It's a sorry world," he went on. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. She spoke slowly. ” Anna nodded. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. Read it, and you'll find that your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in Lancashire.
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