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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 tropical dawn is swift. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. He had already shown the covering envelope and its instructions to Ruth, and she had ignored or misunderstood the warning. The children made us slaves, and the men took advantage of it. Not content with this exhibition of her prowess, the Amazon lifted him up as easily as if he had been an infant, and placed him upon her shoulders, to the infinite delight of the company, and the increased distress of his mother. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers.
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