He then made off. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. Wild never was the associate of thieves. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. I’ve had it, Sheila. On the appearance of the thief-taker, Mrs. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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