It was hot and dry. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Then his tiny bow mouth opened into an adoring smile. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing.
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