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. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him.
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