I left Pasquale
and went downstairs. I knew it was on one of the top shelves
near the ceiling. Now, my dining-room is lit by one shaded
electrolier over the table, so that the walls of the room are in
deep shadow. This has annoyed me many times when I have been
book-hunting. I really must have some top lights put in. To
stand on a chair and burn wax matches in order to find a
particular book is ignominious and uncomfortable. The successive
illumination of four wax matches did not shed itself upon
_L'Histoire Comique de Francion_.
If there is one thing that frets me more than another, it is not
to be able to lay my hand upon a book. I knew Francion was there
on the top shelves, and rather than leave it undiscovered, I
would have spent the whole night in search. I suppose every one
has a harmless lunacy. This is mine. I must have hunted for
that book for twenty minutes, pulling out whole blocks of volumes
and peering with lighted matches behind, until my hands were
covered with dust. At last I found it had fallen to the rear of
a ragged regiment of French novels, and in triumph I took it to
the area of light on the table and turned up the scene in
question.
Pages:
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