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 it was the woman herself who was changed. He gave you a poison. "Proclaim a public fight. She began to read, and presently she entered another world, and remained in it for two hours. She bounced onto her bottom. I could not love you else. It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired.
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