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. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. Wood. Sebastian dared not approach her. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Let me recommend a glass of wine. “Your arrival is really most opportune.
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