4. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. ’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits. “You must tell me the truth, please.
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