They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. " "Holloa! my hearty!" cried Ben, starting to his feet. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. 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.
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