The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. 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. . Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. "The long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned Sharples with dignity, "the Markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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