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“There is my aunt,” she said. ” She looked at him, pleading, miserable in her fancy gown. "Good night!" "So," muttered Jonathan, "having started the hare, I'll now unleash the hounds. 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. I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. " No sooner had Wood crept through the window, than nature gave way, and he fainted. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. It must be somewhere hereabouts. .
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