’ ‘Then who is this Englishman?’ demanded Gerald on a sceptical note. 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 ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. You can do anything you please.
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