"No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. ” He hesitated, and went off at a tangent. 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. Now it occurred to him that to show her the sealed letter would be a better way. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. ’ ‘But me orders, sir? Are we to—’ ‘Gad, but that’s her,’ interrupted Roding suddenly.
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