Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. This morning his entourage (as he jestingly called it) consisted of the girl, two spinsters (Prudence and Angelina Jedson), prim and doubtful of the world, and the young man who appeared to be considerably the worse for the alcohol he had consumed. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard.
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