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. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. “I want to inquire,” said Ann Veronica. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. “Here goes,” he said. And―and he wanted to help you.
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