“The real reason why I am out of place here,” she said, “is because I like men. A very small settlement, mostly natives. A new thought checked her steps and she froze. 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. The beachcomber, the lowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into this estate. “For better or worse. She ought to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life. Capes, do you think.
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