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 thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Or become a thorough-going typist and stenographer and secretarial expert. She rested her head upon his shoulder. The lines about his mouth gradually softened.
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