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. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. "I'm sorry," she said. "Eggs for me! You mistake, child. But, as he made no answer, he was removed. I can’t even make myself care.
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