[Slowly rising to his feet.] You must have your little joke, eh? [He reels against the table.] Or did I misunderstand you? My head's in such a muddle!
The Stranger.
I tell thee that I have been confined within that accursed vessel for centuries beyond all calculation.
Horace.
You can't pull my leg like that, you know! Seriously, just tell me who you are.
The Stranger.
Know then that he who now addresseth thee is none other than Fakrash-el-Aamash, a Jinnee of the Green Jinn.
Horace.
[Half to himself.] Singular, "Jinnee"—plural, "Jinn." Where did I hear that? I—I shall remember presently.
Fakrash.