"Oh! no—no—no," cried Winifred, "I cannot believe it. Even an unlikely episode such as this could not be ignored. And there arose too, a background of shouts. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured.
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