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. ” “That doesn’t explain sunsets. She pulled, he rose to his feet. “Still, of course, it is possible. " And thus their domesticity at McClintock's began—with the tubbing of a stray yellow dog. People were passing in the street below. The remainder of dinner was surreal and stilted.
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