Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. 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. I was worried. In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms.
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