Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. 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. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars.
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