A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. You are the High Priestess of Life. ’ ‘And who, may I ask, is Dorothée?’ asked Gerald. He gripped the window-sill behind him. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. 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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