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. They laughed and talked and stared about them. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. —What do you know of Thames?— Where is he?" "Don't agitate yourself, dearest girl," rejoined the woollen-draper; "or I shall never be able to commence my relation. What is he—English or American?" "American. “Rather darker than most of them.
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