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. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. She stepped on to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. He feared to antagonize that distinguished person. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. "Anything else?" "Your waistcoat.
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