She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. But then the features changed. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. It took my breath away. 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. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation.
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