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. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other people’s. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword.
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