“Poor old Alice!” Her brother Roddy came to her and demanded tea, and asked her to state a case. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. 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. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music.
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