After the dance, they went to a party. All they left it was the moon and stars. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. 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. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted.
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