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. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. Doctor Ralph looked kind and large, and listened to Alice’s responses as though he was listening to symptoms and thought that on the whole she was progressing favorably. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. I've some other things inside, Sir, which you might wish to buy,—some pistols. To divide the agony into two spheres so that one would mitigate the other.
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