You shall know the truth. 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. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. Lucy, would you like to be my date for the silly little dance they call the Junior Prom?\" There was a pregnant pause as she digested the information. " "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. It was now a quarter past twelve.
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