The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. 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. He was painfully in earnest, too. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. “Look here,” he said, protruding his eyes; “why get anything to do at all just yet? Why, if you must be free, why not do the sensible thing? Make yourself worth a decent freedom. ’ ‘You may arrest me later.
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