” He said, his voice tinged with worry. "It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. “Is that all you have to say?” Michelle challenged her. 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. She pointed suddenly at the portrait.
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