The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. Her eyes were wide and bright. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. 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. I don’t see what you can have to say. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. ‘But you will not be in a convent.
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