She covered herself with her arms. 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. ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral. ’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest. There were three exit doors. ” “Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it. ” The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure. Mrs.
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