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 could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. “It has been proved,” said Miss Miniver, and added, “by American professors. Wood," urged Jack. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. Bird,—who was rushing up stairs, alarmed by Mr. . It would not burden him with any obligation.
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