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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. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter of credit. And your great-niece. Don't shake so. "During the whole of that time I have been a close prisoner in Newgate, whence I have only just escaped. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. It consisted, like pre-Roman Gaul, of three parts. ‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about.
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