You'd better lose no time. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. 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. And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault. He made the universe on those lines. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity.
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