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. Now that I recall, it probably wasn’t the best source for engineering plans. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. ” She went as far as her door, then turned to the window. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience.
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