Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain. 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 and her father shook hands manfully. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. Such pretty manners, she thought. " So saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room.
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