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. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. She could not run, her limbs were frozen. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. His brain reeled. And that’s why I’m at your service.
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