. 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 am sick of it. " "That 'ud be no such easy matter," replied the countryman. ” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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