It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. ” “And what do you think I ought to do?” “Exactly!” He lifted a paper-weight and dabbed it gently down again. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. "Well, I won't dispute your judgment in such matters, Mr. " "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie. 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. "I've done with you.
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