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"Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames. But one must disguise oneself. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. 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. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. ’ ‘Alas. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. Play foul, and win. But he's witty and amusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like a Paderewski. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped.
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