“You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. ‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. \" \"It's okay. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. ” “It scarcely gives me a chance,” Mr. ” They remained looking at each other for three or four seconds. 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.
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