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. Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. That’s my opinion, if you ask me. E below. . But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. He jumped out of his own side once again and ran around the car to open hers in another theatrical display of chivalry.
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