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. CHAPTER VIII. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living. I've opened the case of books. She reloaded. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. I’ll feel fine as soon as I get out of my wet clothes.
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