B. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister. 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 surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper. But that's his American education. But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do.
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