We leave England to-night. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. “The Widgetts,” she said. 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. It dawned upon him that he had been abominably used by Ann Veronica.
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