“It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. 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'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd.
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