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. He also had Janine’s daughter, Traci, who he just couldn’t leave alone after she reached puberty, when she grew a small set of underdeveloped breasts. But though he made Blueskin and Kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican.
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