It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. . People were passing in the street below. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. He knows everything. 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. “I have not quarrelled with her. She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more.
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