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. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. " "I don't know. I ought to be able to think things out. \" Michelle said dejectedly. He never felt any need to explain himself. Shari tried a dozen new makeups on her, and Cathy spritzed her with her best perfume, Chanel Number Five. The Ragged Edge. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content.
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