“What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. "Ah! what is that?" he cried, pointing to a dark object floating near them amid the boiling waves, and which presented a frightful resemblance to a human face. The assemblage was for the most part, if not altogether, composed of persons to whom vice in all its aspects was too familiar to present much of novelty, in whatever form it was exhibited. It is quite light yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. ” “You alarm me,” she murmured, smiling. "Certainly not," replied Gay. But if you do not leave this room I must. It was not the type of household where one could come and go at all hours, for this she was glad.
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