A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. To compare me to a starving pig. “I wonder what happened. " "Ah. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. 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. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself.
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