He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. 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. Sheppard; "and to-day is Monday. ‘I am Major Gerald Alderley of the West Kent Militia. “I say, Vee. " "Poh! poh!" rejoined Ireton; "it was mere idle boasting. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. Diable.
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