But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters.
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