"I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. ‘Which presupposes that she needs to hide at all. 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. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. —D'ye hear?" Still the widow remained silent. ‘Kill him? Oh. \" Michelle's shoulders sank, feeling the weight of the pack. ToC Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. Now she knew why the soldiers had not caught him. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. She paused for a moment. I believed I was strong enough to go on in silence; but I'm human like everybody else.
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