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. "Arrest!" vociferated Wood. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. “It’s jolly,” he said, “to feel you have come to me.
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