If Ray left the house, it would be easy. 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. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows. CHAPTER XVIII. Below it a prodigiously large bolt was shot into the socket, and, in order to keep it there, was fastened by a hasp, and further protected by an immense padlock. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said.
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