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. She turned to face him and he kissed her. “You met no one upon the stairs, or saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Anna answered firmly. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol.
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