A. 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. " "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble.
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