Never be downhearted. John said nothing. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. Suddenly the door of the flat opened and closed. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. But also this must not go on. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. Most of my people are upstairs dressing for dinner. 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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