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. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. ‘You wish a life of obedience? So be it, Mademoiselle Charvill. Kneebone were here to protect me!" "If it is Jonathan," rejoined Wood, "it is very well for Mr. “Annabel, I begin to see why you are here.
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