The simile started a laugh in his throat. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. "The danger's past," whispered Bess. . ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious.
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