She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. 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. ‘Well then, Melusine,’ he said calmly, ‘it seems as if we must get you your dowry willy-nilly. I hate what I am. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement.
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