’ She grimaced. The day before this examination was appointed to take place—the third of the prisoner's detention—an old man, respectably dressed, requested permission to see him. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. 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. “Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. "I am. " Not many days after this event, on a bright October morning, the bells rang a merry peal from the old gray tower of Willesden church. Man's fate is in his own hands.
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