He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. 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. " At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. The only mercy you can show me is to kill me.
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