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. He made Hong-Kong at dusk: wet, hungry, and a bit groggy for the want of sleep; but he was in no wise discouraged. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. It isn't your duty. “It may be her salvation.
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