She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. 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. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened.
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