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. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. Priests and princes sought his knowledge of languages and philosophy and wantonly tried to throw themselves into his bed.
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