Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. "Sounds as if I had heard it, but I can't place it this minute. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. "But your threats won't prevent my leaving the room when I please, and as I please. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death.
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