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Updated: May 16, 2025
And I suppose now, my dear young lady," he added, raising his voice to address Sylvia, "you are busy making your future abode as exquisite as taste and research can render it, ransacking all the furniture shops in London for treasures, and going about to auctions or do you ah delegate that department to Mr. Ventimore?"
Ventimore found next morning that his bath and shaving-water had been brought up, from which he inferred, quite correctly, that his landlady must have returned. Secretly he was by no means looking forward to his next interview with her, but she appeared with his bacon and coffee in a spirit so evidently chastened that he saw that he would have no difficulty so far as she was concerned.
Ventimore could not repress a shudder. Hitherto he had never been able to take Fakrash quite seriously, in spite of all his supernatural powers; he had treated him with a half-kindly, half-contemptuous tolerance, as a well-meaning, but hopelessly incompetent, old foozle. That the Jinnee should ever become malevolent towards him had never entered his head till now and yet he undoubtedly had.
Next came the no less difficult questions of entrée or no entrée, of joint and bird. "What's in season just now?" said Horace; "let me see" and glanced out of the window as he spoke, as though in search of some outside suggestion.... "Camels, by Jove!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Camels, Mr. Ventimore, sir?" repeated Mrs.
But Ventimore had seen enough of the Jinnee's Oriental methods to doubt his tact and discretion where Sylvia was concerned. "No, no; of course not. I spoke generally," he said. "It's exceedingly kind of you but I do wish I could make you understand that I am overpaid as it is. You have put me in the way to make a name and fortune for myself. If I fail, it will be my own fault.
Fakrash had always revoked his previous performances as soon as he could be brought to understand their fatuity and Ventimore would take good care that he revoked this.
"There is no occasion to trouble you," said the Professor; "my wife and daughter have already got their things on, and we will walk until we find a cab. Now, Mr. Ventimore, we will bid you good-night and good-bye. For, after what has happened, you will, I trust, have the good taste to discontinue your visits and make no attempt to see Sylvia again."
But a certain Jarjarees, the son of Rejmoos, the son of Iblees may he be for ever accursed! looked with favour upon the maiden, and, going secretly unto Suleyman, persuaded him that I was preparing a crafty snare for the King's undoing." "And, of course, you never thought of such a thing?" said Ventimore.
"What brought " The stranger's eyes grew fish-like for the moment. "Allow me, I I shall come to that in good time. I am still a little as you can see." He glanced round the room. "You are, I think, an architect, Mr. ah Mr. um ?" "Ventimore is my name," said Horace, "and I am an architect."
So much so that, even when the light became obscured for a moment, as if by some large and opaque body in passing, he did not look up immediately, and, when he did, was surprised to find the only armchair occupied by a portly person, who seemed to be trying to recover his breath. "I beg your pardon," said Ventimore; "I never heard you come in."
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