Be kind to her. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. 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 was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side.
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