It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. 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. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come.
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