Wood. F. Charvill’s command of French was enough to tell him that, for its entire content was devoted to commending Nicholas Charvill’s fourteen year old daughter into the care of the Abbess. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. " At the time of his present introduction, his play of "The Captives," had just been produced at Drury Lane, and he was meditating his "Fables," which were published two years afterwards. I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. Good riddance.
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