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. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. Just as Jack gained the entrance, he heard a man's footstep behind him, and aware that the slightest indiscretion would betray him, he halted, uncertain what to do. Spurling. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. He had heard nothing.
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