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. The last few months had not dealt kindly with Mr. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. Amidst it all, however, there were several light-hearted and laughing groups walking from cell to cell to whom all this misery appeared matter of amusement. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. Perhaps the doctor, the manager and the girl were in collusion: perhaps they had heard indirectly of the visit paid by Mr. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. It is nothing at all for you to worry about. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. ‘I’ll make it, miss.
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