Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. ’ ‘Don’t count on it. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. I think you’re wrong. 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.
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