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. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. "Good Lord!—cannibals?" "Aye. . You’re a lady. "Sign this," he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland.
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