Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. . ” He chuckled, wincing at the thought. ” His fingers touched hers for a moment under the ledge of the box. 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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