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Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. You'd be coming up to Hong-Kong, but you'd be cutting out Canton. Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything. "Not my king's," returned Wood. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning. Her aunt was a long time before she answered.
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