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’ve got it. She wished she had not stood up. “Are you going on again this winter with that scientific work of yours? It’s an instance of heredity, I suppose. "So, wanton, I have found you!" "Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at the arm.
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