She pressed her crochet hook against her lip and pondered. There was
such a work, she knew: "North Dormer and the Early Townships of Eagle
County." She had a special grudge against it because it was a limp
weakly book that was always either falling off the shelf or slipping
back and disappearing if one squeezed it in between sustaining volumes.
She remembered, the last time she had picked it up, wondering how anyone
could have taken the trouble to write a book about North Dormer and its
neighbours: Dormer, Hamblin, Creston and Creston River. She knew them
all, mere lost clusters of houses in the folds of the desolate ridges:
Dormer, where North Dormer went for its apples; Creston River, where
there used to be a paper-mill, and its grey walls stood decaying by the
stream; and Hamblin, where the first snow always fell. Such were their
titles to fame.
She got up and began to move about vaguely before the shelves. But she
had no idea where she had last put the book, and something told her that
it was going to play her its usual trick and remain invisible.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25