He was perhaps forty-five years of age. There it is. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. . 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. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford.
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