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. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. She had done forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its traditions to the compromising life. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. ’ ‘Eh bien, it is your fault entirely in this case. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. We Spurlocks take our medicine, standing. The idea of your being a failure would never have occurred to me.
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