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. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes. She tried not to notice how much attention Martin Chen had been paying her, but he had been bold enough to speak to her the other day. So he found her when he came round the corner of the spinney.
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