Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. Spurling. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. We find out no man will treat a woman fairly as man to man—no man. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. ’ There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows.
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