Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. "Where did you find it!" asked Wood. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. . Death belongs to God, young man. 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. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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