She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. 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. "Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs. " "To be sure he is," acquiesced Blueskin. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. “When are you going away?” He asked.
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