I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. 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. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. But he did not follow on with the thought. “The fellow seems to know your name, Miss Pellissier, and that you have lived in Paris.
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