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. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. I think too much about myself. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform.
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