My first job in New York was close enough to the Strand to drop by on my lunch hour. One day I came back to work pleased with myself, having found the last books I needed to complete the New York Edition of Henry James—the two volumes of The Ambassadors. The pleasure must have shown on my face, because it immediately caught the attention of my colleague George, whose wily old eyes followed me with increasing suspicion as I set down the books, put on my white coat, and sat at the workstation next to him.
“What’s got you so happy?” he said in his light Southern growl.
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