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. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. ” She pointed to the envelope still resting upon the mantelpiece. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Wood and the waterman, meanwhile, proceeded in the direction of St.
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