“And then?” said Ann Veronica. 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. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. “You should quit. White,” she remarked. She took his hand in hers. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. You saw him? You have been to Remenham House?’ ‘Remenham House? I wish I’d been only to Remenham House. Somehow to-night—I don’t know.
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