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 air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. After all, it was really rather funny. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. It is useless to trace out her miserable career; though I can easily do so if you require it.
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