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. " "The Dawn Pearl! Odd, but we white folks aren't half so poetical as the yellow or the black. If they come here to walk around, they will hear us. ‘Very well, never mind.
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