"Sounds as if I had heard it, but I can't place it this minute. You would not have the slightest difficulty. 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. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. ” She peered at him through the semi-blackness.
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