’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. He had looked at it before without comprehension. 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.
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