Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. "Can't you see? I can't hurt her, if … if she cares! I can't tell her I'm a madman as well as a thief!… What a fool! What a fool!" A thief. He dropped the key on the counterpane. She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. ' Will that do?" "It will," replied Trenchard. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. She obeyed, extending her arm.
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