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. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. ” She assented, smiling.
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