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’ Mrs Chalkney lifted her brows. 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. "Mr. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. We can be friends again. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. . She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite.

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