"Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. "No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. "I am. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. 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.
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