He filled his pipe slowly. I think over all sorts of things. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. 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. Jack was a comical scoundrel, and made a little too free with his grace's best burgundy, as well as his grace's favourite housekeeper. He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination.
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