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 houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around. “Remember that the man will probably die. " "And partly what else?" "I shall never tell anybody that.
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