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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. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. There is no hidden beast in you, Hoddy. I know. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday. " So saying, he violently shut and locked the door. " "An excellent maxim!" replied his wife, approvingly; "the best I ever heard you utter.
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