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. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. ” She turned and fitted the latchkey into the door. ‘But—’ ‘Nothing at all for you to worry your head over,’ said the captain, moving to try and usher her forth. "Shall I shoot him?" "Yes! yes! put it to his ear!" cried Mrs.
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