A few random students gawked at them in the hall. Before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got Wild in his clutches. "Enough!" rejoined Wild; "he shall not return. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. Disappointed puppy-love, and all that. 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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