She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. 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. okay. You know you don’t mean it. Earles asked sharply. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. ‘I knew it. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand.
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