“Of course you don’t. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. 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. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. If you do not find your aunt, my people will take you under wing until you can stand on your own.
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