And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat. Why did he imagine she was making this journey to England? She feigned interest. The girl nodded sagely. The doctor said you wrote. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind.
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