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laws alone swamp our small staff. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. The blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, Blueskin sprang upon him. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. ’ Triumph leapt in Gerald’s chest. 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. Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death. His last actions were futile. I was—I was a corespondent. .
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