Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. He recognised Anna, and at once addressed her. I’ve no name for it yet. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. I have given up painting. Gerald shook his head.
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