There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. “I was frightened then,” she declared.
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