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. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. She entered the room in the shadows. “How do you feel?” she asked. ’ Martha looked up, belligerence in her tone. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. In his way he was critical. It's certain. So the world is choked with waste and waiting daughters.
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