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. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. Don't be alarmed by their manners, Mr. " "You hear that," whispered Jack.
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