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. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. " "I'll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut. ’ ‘I’ve a good mind to leave the pair of you to it and take myself off,’ threatened his junior, marching across the room and snatching up a decanter. . It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible.
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