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. Should be home soon. Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death. He was all alone, like herself. ‘I do not understand you. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. "But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. ’ He frowned again. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders.
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