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. She laid her hand upon his arm. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. "Oh! that I could live to see it," gasped Jonathan. Another long interval elapsed. I tell you that because it puts us on a footing. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. I do not love you. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror.
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