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. ‘How she pouted, and tried to make out that she had been imposed upon. “You don’t waste any time. It was ten feet long, a relic. I love everything to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us most of all. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear.
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