‘And I am very glad you did this bad thing, because if not, who would take care of me?’ Martha shook her head, and Melusine spied wetness again in her eyes, although they met hers bravely. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. Some of their specimens—wonderfully selected, wonderfully got up. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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