’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. 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. Stanley. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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