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I WAS shopping in a strange town when my eyes caught the sign SECOND‐HAND BOOKS—SALE TODAY IN THE BASEMENT. An iron filing can no more resist a magnet than I can resist the probable pleasures of a second‐hand bookshop. I passed through the door and hurried below. The basement turned out to be a cellar, but it was clean except for the air, which was bookishly musty. I turned my attention to the tables where the books were displayed and knew, at a glance, that my errand would be fruitless. I was looking at a consignment of ex‐public library books.