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. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. If only you could see the people who have been to call on me! Sir John has the most absurd ideas, too. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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