” “Why not?” she asked quietly. 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. “Then we go on to this place, the Oeschinensee. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. After quarter of an hour, she followed. One peculiarity she did not fail to notice.
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