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. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. Lucy replied, \"My hair has a mind of its own. Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine.
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