Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. “Nothing so base. . He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. Like a hare closely pressed, Jack attempted to double, but the device only brought him nearer his foes, who were crossing the field in every direction, and rending the air with their shouts.
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