He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. "This must be prevented," he added to himself. 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. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased.
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