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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. "Miss Enschede was born on an island in the South Seas. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. "And equally easy to prove it," replied Jack, giving him the paper he had abstracted from Wild. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense.
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