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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. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 17-09-2024 03:29:25
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