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’ Fury was in her face. I hated him. He hung round those broad waters from noon until three and realized that he had embarked upon a wild-goose chase. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like! A Frenchie is what you are, and there ain’t no granddaughter Charvill no more. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. 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.
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