"But, I own, I think it is like. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. ‘She’s still bleeding. ” She did not wait for Ann Veronica’s reply. ” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said.
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