Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. The foremost, tall, clean-shaven, perfectly groomed, half extended his hand with a smile of recognition. I never see them, they never even call. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. She would ignore him. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. His expression altered. But we're neglecting the punch all this time.
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