"Come on, my lads!" vociferated Blueskin, "we'll unkennel the old fox. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. 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. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella.
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