"You've got him?" demanded Ireton. "That's for Mrs. . You will obey me out of common decency. 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. There is nobody, then?" "Oh, there is an aunt. ’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary.
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