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. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. I thought you understood. I’m glad you could come. ‘For my part, I am in no hurry to end this exciting little adventure. A common rage flushed their faces. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Sheila found out.
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