" "Hold your tongue!" cried Mrs. 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. "Many thanks, Sir," replied Thornhill, with freezing politeness; "but Id not require assistance. . ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. “I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like,” he said, “but I am going to the ‘Unusual’ with you. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. Happened to be at the Chariot, you know, with Trodger, and it’s review day.
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