Noble lords grew apoplectic. Bishops harrumphed. Even venerable flunkeys quailed. Seldom, if ever, in the 121 years of its existence, had the learned members of London's venerable club, the Athenaeum, received so rude a shock.
In lofty lounges and paneled smoking rooms members perused the painful letter from Lord Simonds, their chairman: between 1942 and 1944, no fewer than 22 volumes had been purloined from the club's library, another 15 had been filched this year. Nor was that all. Of the eight copies of the London Times received each day, all but one were usually missing by evening. The weekly Times Literary...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
