“I shall have to give up biology, anyhow. 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. Wood. I saw him lying on the footway. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. “Oh, you know,” she said. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents.
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