She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. 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. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. As soon as she reached this spot, Wild sprang ashore, and was joined by several persons, —among whom was Quilt Arnold, leading a horse by the bridle,—he hastened down the stairs to meet him. Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. I thought you might like to see. Jack who had not been in a place of worship for many years was powerfully affected. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places.
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