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. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. I thought one had only to take it by the throat. “It was,” she admitted. “Well?” she said, sitting down again. "You're on," said O'Higgins. ‘How much does he know?’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned narrowed eyes on Gerald.
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