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‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. 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. The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once.
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