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. S. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. Pure romantic nonsense on her part. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly.
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