" "Enschede. “I have the right of the man who loves you,” he declared. 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. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. I have never wept since that day. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar.
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