" "You hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. 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. He had an objective now. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. He chuckled.
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