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. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious. " "It shall be, Sir," replied Ireton, bowing. ” “It would be different all the same. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. Stanley. .
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