“Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. 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. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. "What is it you want of me?" "All you know about this young fellow Spurlock.
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