“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. I——” The door was thrown open. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. Ha! ha! ha!" "Jack!" exclaimed Thames, angrily. 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. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves.
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