To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master. 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. Her aunt went off at a tangent. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. As far as I can, I belong to them all. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose.
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