Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. Sailors would leave them at the trader's. This child at once alarmed and thrilled them. She raided their settlements in shifts, staggering her kills from tribe to tribe, undiscriminating of their petty politics. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. 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. Try and let him never regret it. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive.
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