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. It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. I won’t try. For that matter, my future be damned. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. She then introduced them to Martin’s parents. “If you really are going to wait, make yourself as comfortable as you can. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. Never since I was a girl have I seen your father so moved. "He's about to cross the river. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet.
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