I shall begin at the top."
The little man nodded.
"Quite so, quite so," he said; "we shall come to that, I dare say."
"We must, Rimall." And Miltoun turned the page.
The little man's face quivered.
"I don't think," he said, "that book's quite strong enough for you, my
lord, with your taste for reading. Now I've a most curious old volume
here--on Chinese temples. It's rare--but not too old. You can peruse it
thoroughly. It's what I call a book to browse on just suit your palate.
Funny principle they built those things on," he added, opening the
volume at an engraving, "in layers. We don't build like that in
England."
Miltoun looked up sharply; the little man's face wore no signs of
understanding.
"Unfortunately we don't, Rimall," he said; "we ought to, and we shall.
I'll take this book."
Placing his finger on the print of the pagoda, he added: "A good
symbol."
The little bookseller's eye strayed down the temple to the secret price
mark.
"Exactly, my lord," he said; "I thought it'd be your fancy. The price to
you will be twenty-seven and six."
Miltoun, pocketing the bargain, walked out. He made his way into the
Temple, left the book at his Chambers, and passed on down to the bank
of Mother Thames. The Sun was loving her passionately that afternoon; he
had kissed her into warmth and light and colour.
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