She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. ‘I do not know of whom you speak. I'm about to leave this country for ever. I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember. If I had known that you had meant to talk like this I wouldn’t have come here. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit.
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