1. Life’s but a walking shadow— A large collection of old British Penguin paperbacks recently came our way, the earliest published in the 1940’s, the latest in the early 1960’s. There were works of high literature and low, many of them classics, many more by authors whose celebrity came and went some time ago, with a generous complement of mystery novels (in their distinctive green and white covers) thrown in. Pure delight for anyone (like me) with fond memories of purchasing such books in quantity from used book stores all over Britain, back in the days before the internet had made it possible for booksellers to cater to a global market. (I remember one place in Lancaster in the middle 1980’s where one could purchase any twelve worn Penguin volumes of that vintage for a mere £1.00.) We have been enjoying this rather musty treasure-hoard immensely, reading several books that would be exceedingly hard to find today, giving many away, sharing them with family and friends; I just sent off a large selection of mysteries—Josephine Tey, Edmund Crispin, John Bingham, Ellery Queen, and so on—to a friend currently confined to bed.
All of which is only to set the scene.
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