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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. ” Ennison took an easy chair. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. “You would believe that life is kindled by the passions alone. "Your name is Spurlock?" "It is. " Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy.
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