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. But Sheppard took no notice of the exclamation. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. You will find it somewhere in that book. Between Canton and Hartford two giants had risen, invisible but menacing— Fear and Doubt. ’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. He filled his pipe slowly. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. Sheppard. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. I want you. Without her, it was lonely. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. Charvill’s fury was burning out.
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