Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. ” He handed her the phone reluctantly, barely masking his mild disgust. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. You’ll need that. ! He’ll come a cropper one of these days, if you ask me.
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