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. "Mercy on us! Well, I thought their manners quite out o' the common. ” “Can’t we arrange something? Can’t we make a sort of treaty?” “He wouldn’t keep it. Mr. ’ ‘Take care,’ warned Hilary, his eyes on his improvised bandage. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor.
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