Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. ‘A man who is false, who steals papers, who has a plot to take another’s name, who lies to the Mother Abbess and to me, and above all this—’ her voice near to breaking ‘—one who is French. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. "Well," she said, as they reached the hotel portal, "what is your advice?" "Would you follow it?" "Probably not. There were three exit doors. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. " "Then you will stay!" she cried, clapping her hands joyfully, "for I'm sure he won't part with you. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert.
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