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. “Ding-dong-Diedermayer is here, Lucy. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. She was obliged to concede that his features were pleasing, his strength and vitality attractive; and there was no denying how well this uniform of a militia suited his figure, which was lean and powerful both. . Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul.
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