The Pursuit. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. "She was mine before you ever saw her. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. 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. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face.
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