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. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. " "Did I hear you aright?" asked Trenchard, with startling eagerness. “Let’s go in here. ‘You the fellow Gerald spoke to?’ Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight.
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