"But this need give you no uneasiness," pursued Jonathan; "Mrs. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. Thank him, not me, man. 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. " "Enough!" rejoined Blueskin.
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