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. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. . ” “You all seem to be trying to pull my leg,” Sir John remarked quietly. It was true.
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