She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. 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 offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl.
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