The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive on the beach. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. White gasped, and then stiffened. What you said wanted saying. ‘If he had, he’d have found the sword, see.
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