The future was not so black. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. 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 tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm. Earles said, rubbing his hands together, “by post.
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