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. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. " "Couldn't … couldn't I go with you this afternoon?" "Too hot. Her fingers rested upon his. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. . ’ She gave him a straight look.
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