It rained
with patient fury; every now and then I had to get under cover for a
while in order, so to speak, to give my mackintosh a rest; for under
this continued drenching it began to grow damp on the inside. I went
to banks, post-offices, railway-offices, restaurants, publishers,
booksellers, money-changers, and wherever I went a pool would gather
about my feet, and those who were careful of their floors would look
on with an unfriendly eye. Wherever I went, too, the same traits
struck me: the people were all surprisingly rude and surprisingly
kind. The money-changer cross-questioned me like a French
commissary, asking my age, my business, my average income, and my
destination, beating down my attempts at evasion, and receiving my
answers in silence; and yet when all was over, he shook hands with me
up to the elbows, and sent his lad nearly a quarter of a mile in the
rain to get me books at a reduction. Again, in a very large
publishing and bookselling establishment, a man, who seemed to he the
manager, received me as I had certainly never before been received in
any human shop, indicated squarely that he put no faith in my
honesty, and refused to look up the names of books or give me the
slightest help or information, on the ground, like the steward, that
it was none of his business.
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