He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. He seemed to possess infinite reserves of patience when she refused him or purposely tried to bait and anger him, but his patience only made him seem more sinister. ‘What’s more,’ went on Martha, ‘I knew something Mr Charvill didn’t, or he wouldn’t so readily have left it behind him. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods.
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