Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. 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. "An audience might have frightened the birds. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. He could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him. The door was then locked, and he was left alone. "Don't alarm yourself about him, Sir," replied Austin. There were two of them. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. Don’t stand gawping, man. "Promise me that.
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