She opened her eyes. 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. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. His name was Peter. The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. You've caught the colour and the life.
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