Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. I should like Mr. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. 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.
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