He could not quite make her out; a new type. "There's the exact expression I want. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. I suppose I ought to have been a man. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself. The pearls were really yours?" "They were left to me by my mother. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. 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.
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