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. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand. When the prisoner was brought into this room, he was again questioned; but, continuing contumacious, preparations were made for inflicting the torture. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. If you knew your aunt were alive, if she expected you, that would be different. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father.
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