She was struck by a change in his appearance. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. 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. And that happens through our maternity; it’s our very importance that degrades us. ‘While we’re on the subject of age, it may be relevant to your claim to this house. Then it dawned. The Jew swallowed it at a draught. What’s the name of the happy man?” Gwen owned to “Fortescue. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her.
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