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. ‘Tell me what you know of Miss Charvill?’ he ordered severely. ‘Ha!’ uttered Captain Roding triumphantly. I don’t want to bother you, of course. I must go to work again. He watched her, savoring her curious attention.
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