After the dance, they went to a party. Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both. 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 went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. Firstly, she did not intend to marry at all, and particularly she did not mean to marry Mr. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do. Your boyfriend.
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