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. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief.
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