“It isn’t quite that we’re toys. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. Ray did not pace, he just stood. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort.
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