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. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing. I will dedicate my books to you. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. ” He said with a laugh.
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