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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. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. ” He was a little uneasy. " "Man, in God's name, come with me and tell her this!" urged Spurlock. " "Is that all!" retorted Jonathan. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. "My mother is avenged. She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway.
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