Characteristically, he must establish himself at the very doors of the great Library.

His Oriental researches, as we know, were speedily abandoned, but the rooms in Great Russell Street still kept their tenant.

They were far from an ideal abode, indifferently furnished, with draughty doors and smoky chimneys, and the rent was exorbitant; the landlady, who speedily gauged her lodger's character, had already made a small competency out of him.
Even during long absences abroad Egremont retained the domicile; at each return he said to himself that he must really find quarters at once more reputable and more homelike, but the thought of removing his books, of dealing with new people, deterred him from the actual step.
In fact, was indifferent as to where or how he lived; all he asked was the possibility of privacy.

The ugliness of his surroundings did not trouble him, for he paid no attention to them.

Some day he would have a beautiful home, but what use in thinking of that till he had someone to share it with him?
This was a mere _pied a terre_; it housed his body and left his mind free.
The real home which he remembered was a house looking upon Clapham Common.