I arranged them on top of a chest of drawers, but I kept the _Pilgrim's Progress_ beside my bed, for that was one of my working tools and I had got to get it by heart.
Mrs Jimson, who came in while I was unpacking to see if the room was to my liking, approved my taste.

At our midday dinner she wanted to discuss books with me, and was so full of her own knowledge that I was able to conceal my ignorance.
'We are all labouring to express our personalities,' she informed me.
'Have you found your medium, Mr Brand?
is it to be the pen or the pencil?
Or perhaps it is music?
You have the brow of an artist, the frontal "bar of Michelangelo", you remember!' I told her that I concluded I would try literature, but before writing anything I would read a bit more.
It was a Saturday, so Jimson came back from town in the early afternoon.

He was a managing clerk in some shipping office, but you wouldn't have guessed it from his appearance.

His city clothes were loose dark-grey flannels, a soft collar, an orange tie, and a soft black hat.

His wife went down the road to meet him, and they returned hand-in-hand, swinging their arms like a couple of schoolchildren.