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A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. She was poor. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. ‘Will you stop hedging? I’m hanged if I go on with this ridiculous cat and mouse game. 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. How am I supposed to rent an apartment when I cannot legally buy cigarettes? I couldn’t use you. \"I'm sixteen, I'm a junior like you.
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