" "What can be done for him?" cried Thames. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. " "When you please, Sir," said Thames, coldly. 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. ” She spoke like a mistress addressing school-children. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet.
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