Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. Mere formality. Can you afford to give this time? There are your own affairs to think of. 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. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold.
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