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. “I am sick of it. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. Only that you will hurry and help Jacques. One or the other. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. “I was turned against my will by a very evil man, a vampire named Sebastianus. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise.
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