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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. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. “Fighting goes with loads of its own baggage, John. "His name, I say!—his name!" thundered the knight. "You will spare the officers a labour then," rejoined Jonathan. .
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