Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. It wouldn’t be you. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively. "I don't exactly know the rights of that affair," rejoined Griffin, with some curiosity.
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