CHAPTER VIII. ’ ‘I’ve a good mind to leave the pair of you to it and take myself off,’ threatened his junior, marching across the room and snatching up a decanter. "I forbid you to do that. Farhat who was stranded on a desolate roadside until one fateful day he passed the traveling caravan of the beautiful princess Anoush. I won’t even ask. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. " "Blueskin, clear the room," cried the Master; "these gentlemen would be private. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. There is a railroad.
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