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“Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. Arrived beneath an aperture in the broken roof, he was preparing to pass through it, when he observed a little heap of tiles upon the floor, which appeared to have been recently dislodged. 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. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. “There is my aunt,” she said.
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