The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. F. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. ’ ‘Dunderhead. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. 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. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. The terror faded from her eyes. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse.
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