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. Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. The resemblance was amazing! And some man—he was good-looking—was in the background. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows.
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