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. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. ” She went as far as her door, then turned to the window. Too close, he reasoned, for safety. The area was sparsely populated. They were those of the Irish watchman. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right.
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