The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. 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. Leastways, not on your own. But, since I've seen the friend and companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I've no heart for it.
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