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. We men are like children. Your boyfriend. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. I am determined to fight my own little battle with the world —there must be a place for me somewhere, and I mean to find it. ” “I am convinced of it,” she answered.
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