I'm sure she'll let me go, though. 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 can’t. So I've grown hard—outside. He shuddered. Hill was seated. All that she had ever
loved were gone, except Sebastian. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her
mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. ”
Ennison took the document, tore it half in two without looking at it, and flung it
back in Hill’s face. As Leonardo had himself
pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the
unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who
could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them
away?
‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal
her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of
an English lady. I don’t wish to marry you at all.
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