"We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. 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. There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. ’ Melusine stared. In Europe or in America people would have smiled; but in Singapore—the half-way port of the world—where a human kaleidoscope tumbles continuously east and west, no one had remarked her.
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