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 is no doubt whatever about that. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. It is positively hateful to think of it. It was still possible the child might be in safety. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. It was bleeding again.
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