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. ‘What, and miss getting myself murdered?’ ‘She said she wouldn’t murder you. ” “As a matter of fact, I happen to have got a little into debt. ” The official frowned. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. She despises me, I suppose. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag.
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