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. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. Night and day have been alike to me. He turned back at once. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. Earles drew out his cheque book. I MUST pay off that forty pounds.
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