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. "Has any one been here?" he asked. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside.
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