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Updated: May 5, 2025
John Millinborn, broad-shouldered, big-featured, a veritable giant in frame and even in his last days suggesting the enormous strength which had been his in his prime, had been an outdoor man, a man of large voice and large capable hands; James Kitson had been a student from his youth up and had spent his manhood in musty offices, stuffy courts, surrounded by crackling briefs and calf-bound law-books.
Even in its dust-covered condition it was a room to command respectful consideration. As Jarvis came in, Max was studying the rows of books. He turned about with a small calf-bound volume in his hand, and his eye fell on Jarvis, entering. "Jarve," he exclaimed, "I believe this is treasure-trove, sure enough! If this isn't a 'first edition, I'll eat the book, covers and all!"
He holds a calf-bound volume of Plato in his hand. From time to time he glances from the cramped Greek text to the noble, weatherworn towers of his cathedral. His life is delicately scented with a fine mixture of classical culture and Tallis' ferial responses. Our Dean he is also rector of our parish is a man of a wholly different kind.
On a cane day-bed that had been set for him on the quarter-deck, sheltered from the dazzling, blistering sunshine by an improvised awning of brown sailcloth, lounged Peter Blood, a calf-bound, well-thumbed copy of Horace's Odes neglected in his hands.
"Sure, and it must be the boy himself," said the little man aloud. He opened the door and walked in. A young man sat reading with his heels crossed on the top of a desk. A large calf-bound volume was open before him, but the book in the hands of the youth looked less formidable. It bore the title, "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes."
She had been so busy learning the contents of that old calf-bound book that she had never noticed how a light seemed to shine right through Ann Mary's lovely face every time Captain Winthrop looked at her.
The lawyer's private chamber was bare, with snowy panelling and mahogany, the high sombre shelves of a calf-bound law library, a ponderous cabriolet table, sturdy, rush-seated Dutch chairs, and a Franklin stove with slender brass capitols and shining hod. "A chair, Jasper," Stephen Jannan directed. "You ought to know them, they came out of Myrtle Forge some of old Gilbert's.
Spurs—silver spurs—not quite so elaborate as those he now wore, but of the same general workmanship. "I’d like to look at those spurs." Stein unlocked the case and took them out. As Drew unstrapped those he wore and fitted the new pair to his boots, a brown, calf-bound book thudded to the floor. Weighing the volume in his hand, the Kentuckian straightened up.
It really treats of the English people, and not solely of their kings and queens. Dr. Cromarty, Mr. Price is busy, will you mind bringing me the catalogue of the library up here?" Dr. Cromarty obeyed, and Mr. Gilman examined the typewritten, calf-bound volume. "Yes," said he. "Yes. I thought we had Green on board, and we have. I should like extremely to know what Green says about Moze.
He had the judge's library now and the judge's assistance. Evening after evening he sat in the dim, ghost-hallowed room, the shining calf-bound volumes girdling the walls, and absorbed the judge as the judge, in his own time, had absorbed the men who were gone. From that rich storehouse of high principles and simple deeds Nicholas's future was drawing nourishment.
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