Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. 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 gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. " "True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. The Old Mint.
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