An unscrupulous writer in
a well-known weekly paper had written the collection down. Moreover
there had been one or two large sales a short time before Dr.
Skinner's, so that at this last there was rather a panic, and a
reaction against the high prices that had ruled lately.
The table of the library was loaded with books many deep; MSS. of
all kinds were confusedly mixed up with them- boys' exercises,
probably, and examination papers- but all littering untidily about.
The room in fact was as depressing from its slatternliness as from its
atmosphere of erudition. Theobald and Ernest, as they entered it,
stumbled over a large hole in the Turkey carpet, and the dust that
rose showed how long it was since it had been taken up and beaten.
This, I should say, was no fault of Mrs. Skinner's but was due to
the Doctor himself, who declared that if his papers were once
disturbed it would be the death of him. Near the window was a green
cage containing a pair of turtle doves, whose plaintive cooing added
to the melancholy of the place. The walls were covered with book
shelves from floor to ceiling, and on every shelf the books stood in
double rows. It was horrible.
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