As pretty as its owner. 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 told him there wasn't anything in the pockets?" "Yes. Stanley, to which the two ladies subordinated themselves intelligently. “He dissembles,” he said. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s.
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