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. ’ He took the thing from Melusine’s listless grasp and went on, ‘Now then, what’s all this here argy-bargy with Pottiswick?’ Melusine opened her eyes and straightened up. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp.
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