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. So saying, he manfully resumed his work; while Wood and Thames quitted the room, and went down stairs. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. ’ Lucilla burst into laughter and clapped her hands. I could not dream of loving you.
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