But seriously, things are not so bad as you think. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. 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. “Oh, you know,” she said. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. The patient fell into a natural and refreshing sleep.
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