That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. It wound around a small manufactured lake. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. I do not know how I shall get it, but I must, you understand. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life. Montague Hill. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. Stonily he had disengaged himself. 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. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room.
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