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. ‘But what will happen to Lucia? Are we to kill her?’ ‘Of course not. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. “Someone must have found it and taken good care of it.
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