It’s not far from twilight. ” Brendon reappeared, followed by a tall thin man with a stubbly brown moustache and restless grey eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. 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. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. I called myself Anna. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four.
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