CHAPTER FOURThe Other One
Monday the fifteenth was one of those days that sometimes surprise city people in August; pleasant and cool, with that strangeness and difference in the air and sunshine that means a season coming to an end. Gamadge dressed in his thinnest grey flannels, had late breakfast, got out his car, and drove up to his subscription library in the seventies. He sometimes said that if he had to die he wouldn’t mind dying in the sunny reading-room, comfortably settled in one of the large chairs, with his favourite humorous periodical open on his knee. The librarians assured him he was welcome, no trouble at all, they’d make it right with the board of governors.
This morning he talked for a while with the ladies at the desk, put Clara down for a couple of books, put himself
