“John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. 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. Sheppard, fervently. He was in the house with his mother. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's.
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