Each human contact leaves some indelible mark. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. 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. "Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. We have so much to be thankful for.
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