“Well,” she said. 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. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. Do so; and I am yours as heretofore. 1. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens.
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