“Portly, balding Mr. Mappleton, the executor, detailed the bad news he had only outlined when they had met briefly yesterday, right before the funeral. “As I indicated, this house must be sold, to pay off her debts. It and its contents should satisfy most of them. The coach will need to go too, but I calculate that you will be left with the cabriolet and the chestnut mare.” “And the house on Wells Street?” She prayed his final reckoning had not shown the need to sell that too. “It still appears ...that will be spared. However, if any more debts emerge—well, as I explained before ...” Mr. Mappleton patted his forehead with a handkerchief. Informing heirs that little would in fact be inherited distressed him. “Not much of a legacy, I am afraid. As her solicitor, I did advise less extravagance, I want you to know. Frequently.” “Please do not feel guilty for a situation not at all of your making. Nor should you think that my mother ignored your advice. However, her profession required much of that extravagance.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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