It was a betrayal of God and her former family, but all in all was much easier. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. “You will not object,” he said, glancing towards her, “to accepting a deposit. It was locked. 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.
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