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The Haunted Bookshopby Christopher Morley
Courtesy of Web's Top 100 atwww.passiontolearn.com 
TO THE BOOKSELLERSBe pleased to know, most worthy, that this little book isdedicated toyou in affection and respect.The faults of the composition are plain to you all. I beginmerely inthe hope of saying something further of the adventures of ROGER MIFFLIN, whose exploits in "Parnassus on Wheels" someof you have beenkind enough to applaud. But then came Miss TitaniaChapman, and myyoung advertising man fell in love with her, and the two of them rather ran away with the tale.I think I should explain that the passage in Chapter VIII,dealing withthe delightful talent of Mr. Sidney Drew, was written beforethelamented death of that charming artist. But as it was a
 
sinceretribute, sincerely meant, I have seen no reason for removing it.Chapters I, II, III, and VI appeared originally in TheBookman, and tothe editor of that admirable magazine I owe thanks for his permissionto reprint. Now that Roger is to have ten Parnassuses on the road, Iam emboldenedto think that some of you may encounter them on their travels. And if you do, I hope you will find that these new errants of theParnassus onWheels Corporation are living up to the ancient andhonourabletraditions of our noble profession.CHRISTOPHER MORLEY.Philadelphia,April 28, 1919The Haunted Bookshop
 
Chapter IThe Haunted BookshopIf you are ever in Brooklyn, that borough of superb sunsetsandmagnificent vistas of husband-propelled baby-carriages, itis to behoped you may chance upon a quiet by-street where there isa veryremarkable bookshop.This bookshop, which does business under the unusualname "Parnassus atHome," is housed in one of the comfortable old brown-stone dwellingswhich have been the joy of several generations of plumbersandcockroaches. The owner of the business has been at painsto remodelthe house to make it a more suitable shrine for his trade,which dealsentirely in second-hand volumes. There is no second-hand bookshop inthe world more worthy of respect.It was about six o'clock of a cold November evening, withgusts of rainsplattering upon the pavement, when a young man
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