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. He was always doing his best to call her attention to the fact that he was a man of spirit and quality and experience, and she a young and beautiful woman, and that all sorts of constructions upon their relationship were possible, trusting her to go on from that to the idea that all sorts of relationships were possible. “For my part I can see no difference in any of these French girls who come over here with their demure manner and atrocious songs. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry.
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