She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. “I don’t see why I should take it secondhand. I love everything to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us most of all. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. 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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