She remembered possessing it during the Gold Rush. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. 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. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. Imperceptibly almost Ann Veronica began to acquire the new attitude, even while her mind still resisted the felted ideas that went with it. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. Her orgasm began as an insistent throb. ‘Now then, girl.
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