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. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. "The plot's out!" cried Jack. In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. "Sounds as if I had heard it, but I can't place it this minute.
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