Meantime, O'Higgins wended his way to the Victoria, mulling over this and that phase, all matters little and big that bore upon the chase. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. 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. "Can't!" repeated his mother. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether.
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