We felt like thieves. I do not blame you for the act. 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. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. “Before I heard much Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I didn’t like at school. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door.
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