There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. 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 was—a service. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. She infused menace into her voice. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. As Gosse pushed her around it, she felt his hold about her of necessity loosen slightly. "Then you need no further information from me," rejoined Jackson, sternly.
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