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 really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. 1. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye.
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