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. "I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. Sheppard," said Wood in a soothing tone. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire.
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