“Nothing has happened to Mr. Ennison’s acquaintance. She told us that it was a disguise. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. 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. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. I wonder what it was. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath.
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