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. Or, after all, is it worth while? The Channel is a little broader than the Boulevards— but one crosses it sometimes. Her father—man of rock—had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even if he did not love her, would always be needing her. The girl’s eyes never left his face.
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