Excerpt from Bernard Shaw
My Dear Orage, - You will remember how, some years ago, we were thrown together by the Fates in that smoky chaos which is known to geographers and others as Leeds. I have a clear recollection of the exact circumstances. It was in a bookshop, into which we had both turned, probably to find in books that community of ideas which we were unable to find locally among men. We were pottering around some shelves containing books of the genus Second-hand, which were set far back in the partial gloom and comparative quietness of the remote end of the shop. We stalked our quarry in that absorbed and dilatory way peculiar to the book-hunter.
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