Hudson River Bracketed by Edith Wharton

It was so still in the dim book-lined room that had the late Miss Lorburn reappeared upon the scene she might have mistaken for a kindred ghost the young man in possession of her library.

Vance, for the last few days, had been going over the books at the Willows, wiping them with a soft towel and carefully putting one after another back in its proper place. Halo Spear, in one of her spasmodic bursts of energy, had swooped down from Eaglewood the first morning to show him how to do it; for in the reverent and orderly treatment of books (handling them, Mrs. Weston might have put it, as gingerly as if they were "the best china"!) Vance was totally untaught. Miss Spear, with those swift and confident hands of hers, had given him one of her hurried demonstrations, accompanied by a running commentary of explanation. "Don't SHAKE the books as if they were carpets, Vance; they're not. At least they're only magic carpets, some of them, to carry one to the other side of the moon. But they won't stand banging and beating. You see, books have souls, like people: that is, like a few people. . No, I wouldn't ask the Tracys to help; they don't know much about books. You and I will manage it by ourselves. Look: wipe the edges gently, like this, and then flutter the pages ever so lightly--as if you were a bee trying to shake open a flower--just to get the dust out. Ah, but how lovely this is! Listen: "Ah, what avails the sceptred race, And what the form divine? What every virtue, every grace? Rose Aylmer, all were thine . . ."