“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. This time she tried to kill me with a dagger. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. Howsomdever, if you should reach t'other side, take an old feller's advice, and don't be foolhardy enough to venter back again.
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