Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. She’d have thrown this thing if you hadn’t stopped her. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it. I must take you to the Suffrage people, and the Tolstoyans, and the Fabians. 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.
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