" "I've just bethought me of a crib as'll serve their turn," interposed Sharples, "at any rate, they'll be out o' the vay, and as safe as two chicks in a coop. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. 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.
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