Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet.
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