Brendon. 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. “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. Oddly, Sebastian chose to be charioteer. Cautiously stepping outside, he looked up towards the terrace.
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