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The Jew did not speak, but pointed to the audience-chamber. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. 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. . And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. ” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided.
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