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Updated: July 17, 2025
Beneath a shelter-tent by the Rapidan, in a striped railroad-station in Bavaria, at the counter of Trübner's bookstore in London, and at Cordaville, in Worcester County, Massachusetts, as we waited for the freight to get out of the way, I have read the "Atlantic" over their shoulders, or they over mine. The same thing has happened at six hundred and thirty-two other improbable places.
At half-past five on Monday morning Horace Greeley stood before the designated house, and discovered the sign, "West's Printing Office," over the second story, the ground floor being occupied as a bookstore. Not a soul was stirring up stairs or down. The doors were locked, and Horace sat down on the steps to wait. Thousands of workmen passed by; but it was nearly seven before the first of Mr.
Intense curiosity stimulating him, he hurried his departure, and after traveling day and night arrived in London on the evening of the last day of May. He waited only to engage a room at Langham's and change his dress, and partake of a slight luncheon, before he ordered a cab, drove to the nearest bookstore, and purchased a copy of Burke's Peerage for that current year.
But twice, without the nurse's knowledge, Miss Masters took her rest-time every afternoon from three to seven, rules were suspended to admit Miss Sadie Whirtle, of Baird & Himmel's, an enormous, snapping, red-cheeked girl she proved to be, whose ample Semitic countenance gave a copious background for violet talcum, but who said nothing wittier in Vivian's hearing than "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm sure" and once to admit Miss Henrietta Cooney, of Saltman's bookstore.
Their superb pluck impressed Mr. Dunn immensely. As they were sitting at a cafe, some French soldiers led away a German spy, with a towel wrapped around his eyes. The man was executed. I met a British staff officer at Brentano's bookstore, as he was buying maps of the environs of Paris.
"Now isn't that just like old Tom?" laughed Darrin, when he discovered that their friend was missing. "Well, anyway, I can't wait. Here's where our roads branch, Dick, old fellow. And say! Aren't we the lucky simpletons? Good night, old chum!" Dick fairly raced into the bookstore conducted by his parents. He almost upset a customer who was leaving with a package under his arm.
I paused before the display window of a bookstore of the level. Most of these books I had previously discovered were lurid-titled tales of licentious love. But among them I now saw a volume bearing the title "God's Anointed," and recalled that I had seen it before and assumed it to be but another like its fellows.
"You dropped it, you see, in the bookstore, and I picked it up. It blew to me, I didn't steal it, leastways I didn't think I did; but I don't know but it's just about as bad. At any rate I've brought it back, and there 'tis." "Why!" said Mr. Stephens, "is it possible that I dropped a bill?" And he drew forth his pocket-book for examination. "Yes, that's a fact.
Then, after a moment of irresolution on the threshold of the place, he turned to the right, thrusting his way through the sluggish crowds on Tower Street until he came to the large bookstore where he had been want to spend, from time to time, some of his leisure moments.
Nor did Prescott lose any time himself, but raced down the street, turned into Main Street and ran on until he came to the little cross street on which stood the bookstore conducted by his father and mother. "Mercy, Dick! What makes you run so?" asked Mrs. Prescott. Dick was rejoicing to discover that there was, at this moment, no customer in the store.
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