"Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. ’ ‘Exactement. He knows everything. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. 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. Do you promise to do this?" "Solemnly," rejoined the carpenter. “All of which doesn’t help me in the slightest degree to pay back that money.
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