She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. 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. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments.
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