I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. 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. Stones and brickbats were showered on all sides, and Mr. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain.
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