Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side. “He broke up with Katy Pfister last night on the phone, from what I hear. Must be plenty of work for you to do. You are different from all the world for me. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. "Stop a minute," cried Jack, detaining his mistresses. .
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