Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. And when they got to Covent Garden Ramage secured one of the little upper boxes, and they came into it as the overture began. 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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