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. The only mercy you can show me is to kill me. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Ramage demurred. “What’s odd?” “Oh, everything!” She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. “She means to go. “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre.
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