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. ‘Me and the butler didn’t see eye to eye. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. Take care he don't see you,—and bring me word where he goes, and what he does. You lie about your past all the time and you know it.
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