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. Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. ’ ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here into Park Lane, or one of the Squares. For the present the desire to fly was gone. .
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