The Haunted Bookshop. Christopher Morley

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The Haunted Bookshop - Christopher  Morley

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       Christopher Morley

      The Haunted Bookshop

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664095596

       Chapter I

       The Haunted Bookshop

       PARNASSUS AT HOME R. AND H. MIFFLIN BOOKLOVERS WELCOME! THIS SHOP IS HAUNTED

       Chapter II

       The Corn Cob Club[1]

       Chapter III

       Titania Arrives

       ON THE RETURN OF A BOOK LENT TO A FRIEND

       THE BOOK THAT SHOULD HAVE PREVENTED THE WAR

       Chapter IV

       The Disappearing Volume

       Chapter V

       Aubrey Walks Part Way Home—and Rides The Rest of the Way

       CARLYLE —— OLIVER CROMWELL'S LETTERS AND SPEECHES

       Chapter VI

       Titania Learns the Business

       Chapter VII

       Aubrey Takes Lodgings

       CHAPMAN'S CHERISHED CHIPS

       Chapter VIII

       Aubrey Goes to the Movies, and Wishes he Knew More German

       Chapter IX

       Again the Narrative is Retarded

       Chapter X

       Roger Raids the Ice-Box

       Chapter XI

       Titania Tries Reading in Bed

       Chapter XII

       Aubrey Determines to give Service that's Different

       Chapter XIII

       The Battle of Ludlow Street

       Chapter XIV

       The "Cromwell" Makes its Last Appearance

       Chapter XV

       Mr. Chapman Waves His Wand

       Table of Contents

       Table of Contents

      If you are ever in Brooklyn, that borough of superb sunsets and magnificent vistas of husband-propelled baby-carriages, it is to be hoped you may chance upon a quiet by-street where there is a very remarkable bookshop.

      This bookshop, which does business under the unusual name "Parnassus at Home," is housed in one of the comfortable old brown-stone dwellings which have been the joy of several generations of plumbers and cockroaches. The owner of the business has been at pains to remodel the house to make it a more suitable shrine for his trade, which deals entirely in second-hand volumes. There is no second-hand bookshop in the world more worthy of respect.

      It was about six o'clock of a cold November evening, with gusts of rain splattering upon the pavement, when a young man proceeded uncertainly along Gissing Street, stopping now and then to look at shop windows as though doubtful of his way. At the warm and shining face of a French rotisserie he halted to compare the number enamelled on the transom with a memorandum in his hand. Then he pushed on for a few minutes, at last reaching the address he sought. Over the entrance his eye was caught by the sign:

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