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 was settled. \"Did you girls finish your homework?\" Cathy's head appeared in the open door. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. The evenings were dulcet and soft. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. But he reckoned without his host. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. I should have gone mad without it. Wear one on the stage on the following day.
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