It was a different world. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement. I want to leave it for ever. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. 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. ’ ‘Why must you?’ asked Gerald calmly.
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