The noise was raucous. “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. He never retires to rest till daybreak—if at all. The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. “But this is a surprise!” said Ramage. " "Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio. He roused curiosities. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone.
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