So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. And he who opposes me in it shall feel the weight of my hand. You can tell me the rest another time. Get the pole out of your ass. ” To remain, she felt, was to concede everything. 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.
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