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. Spurling. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly. Yet he stays. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. But she veiled her feelings. Lucy entered the house by picking the back door lock with the slim jim. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. .
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