A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew. “Lucy, this isn’t funny anymore. ‘You have rifled his papers. 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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