He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. I just never had anything else fun to do. “I came to London unexpectedly, and my friends could not take me in. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. 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. \"Of course not.
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