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. “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. But, urged by his wife's cries, who was more anxious for the preservation of her child's life than her own, he snatched up the infant, and made his escape from the back of the premises. Then she realized that it was her business to let Manning talk and impose his own interpretations upon the situation so far as he was concerned. It'll be turning over to-morrow. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. "Well, I've seen many a gallant fellow in my time, Mr. How's that strike you?" "Very well, sir. "I do," replied Kneebone.
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