Late oernoon, while waiting for a Fifth Avenue bus, I noticed a taxi stopacross the street to let out a girl who ran up the steps of the Forty-sed Streetpublic library. She was through the doors before I reized her, which ardonable, for Holly and libraries were not an easy association to make. I letcuriosity guide me between the lions, debating on the way whether I should admitfollowing her or pretend ce. In the end I did her, but cealed myselfsome tables away from her in the general reading room, where she sat behind herdark glasses and a fortress of literature shed gathered at the desk. She sped fromone book to the , itently lingering on a page, always with a frown, as if itwere printed upside down. She had a pencil poised above paper -- nothing seemedto catch her fancy, still now and then, as though for the hell of it, she made laboriousscribblings. Watg her, I remembered a girl Id known in school, a grind, MildredGrossman. Mildred: with her moist ha……（内容加载失败！）
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