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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 have two days in which to earn nearly thirty shillings—that is with no dinners, and get a situation. He’s nice. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. Put on that new dress—the one that's all white. You denied it, remembering that I had called myself Anna. But now Ann Veronica knew what was the matter with her. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred.
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This video was uploaded to southmsnightout.com on 29-06-2024 06:07:41
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