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. I'm a poor nurse. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. Wherever I saw him, I should pick him out as a man designed by nature to plan and accomplish the wonderful escapes he has effected.
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