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. Preparations were next made for taking Thames on board. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. It was fastened inside. ‘What would you? The nuns they would not believe me, and so it was not possible for me to stay. The angels in Heaven shall not tear you from me. Since the discovery of them, she had been madly eager to read these typewritten tales.
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