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. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. ‘It is precisely that point over which Melusine and I fell out.
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