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. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. There is no other way. Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days. "But we'll find a way to make you open your lips presently.
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