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. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. I want a walk. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. Proof that the scoundrel had risen from the dead—for he was dead to his father! He glared at the female whose appearance in England had revived those painful memories—churning unbearably since Brewis Charvill had brought him the news and put him in the worst of tempers—and the fury spilled out. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely.
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