"Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. I spent this afternoon in detention. No doubt there’s some little mistake. 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. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. Love lives on a higher plane.
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