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. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. . "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. Brown gushed conservatively about the orchestra, letting the audience know about the recording engineers and how proud he was of Martin Chen.
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