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. It had been her home for hundreds of years. . You have never felt the hearts of all hardened against you; have never heard the jeer or curse from every lip; nor endured the insult and the blow from every hand. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. CHAPTER XXVII.
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