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. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. "I don't think that's likely. ‘Not entirely English then. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. ’ ‘Eh bien, it is your fault entirely in this case. Oh, I know.
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