"How, Sir?" "Except by adoption. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames.
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