The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane. Never be downhearted. 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. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. She answered slowly. Under the circumstances you must permit me to be the best judge of the identity of the young lady who did me the honour, as an old family friend, of dining with me.
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