The thought had not even occurred to him. But this calm was more awful than the previous roaring of the blast. 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 lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. “Turn me.
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