Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. For a while he threatened her. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen. Every article in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recounting of the list by the doctor. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. His face was very serious. 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. Think of those days in Paris. " "I care not why you did it," said Jack, sternly. " "I am fully aware of it, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, coolly; "but I have nothing to fear; because, in the first place, it will be to your advantage not to molest me; and, in the second, I am provided against all contingencies. "But clear the room of this rabble, if you have sufficient authority over them.
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