Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. F. Melusine’s eyes shifted. 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. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. She turned a resolute face southward. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison.
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