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Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. In a moment they were in the street outside. Annabel entered. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. 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. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. "For my part, it's only what I expected of him," observed Mrs.
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