Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. 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. He had reacted by laughing at her, informing her coolly that she was naïve in many things. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady.
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