Part 2 Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. 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 rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. ’ ‘I swear to you, it is the exact truth,’ he protested. It’s—it’s a social difference. ‘Ha! Just the person I want. By-the-bye, do you recognize that?” Anna looked and gasped. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. A pig, yes, a little. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage.
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