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. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. "That's a fine tale," said Spurlock. You yourself, I am sure, recognize how impossible you have made it for me now to do anything of the sort.
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