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. Melusine, intent on the luckless Kimble, did not care. He might solve the riddle. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. All she needed to do was to have a body.
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