Every court and alley whispers of books and of the making of books; forms of type, trundled noisily on trollies by ink-smeared boys, salute the wayfarer at odd corners; piles of strawboard, rolls or bales of paper, drums of printing-ink or roller-composition stand on the pavement outside dark entries; basement windows give glimpses into Hadean caverns tenanted by legions of printer's devils; and the very air is charged with the hum of press and with odours of glue and paste and oil.

The entire neighbourhood is given up to the printer and binder; and even my patient turned out to be a guillotine-knife grinder--a ferocious and revolutionary calling strangely at variance with his harmless appearance and meek bearing.
I was in good time at my tryst, despite the hindrances of fried plaice and invalid guillotinists; but, early as I was, Miss Bellingham was already waiting in the garden--she had been filling a bowl with flowers--ready to sally forth.
"It is quite like old times," she said, as we turned into Fetter Lane, "to be going to the Museum together.

It brings back the Tell el Amarna tablets and all your kindness and unselfish labour.

I suppose we shall walk there to-day ?" "Certainly," I replied; "I am not going to share your society with the common mortals who ride in omnibuses.

That would be sheer, sinful waste.
Besides, it is more companionable to walk." "Yes, it is; and the bustle of the streets makes one more appreciative of the quiet of the Museum.