She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. “I know. —'They can't, I tell you,' says I, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. After quarter of an hour, she followed. 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. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm.
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