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 is part of the irony of life,” he said. So, why did you slam the door in John Diedermayer's face?\" Lucy did not look at her, but cocked her head skyward.
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