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The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. Not so bad. She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. 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 hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door.
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