“In all fairness,” she thought to herself as she coaxed his mouth toward her left nipple. The door opened. This was the reason he had raised his little independent Company of Light Infantry and joined the West Kent Militia. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. 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.
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