There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. He was instantly overpowered, and stretched upon the ground. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss.
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