Somebody else presently finds it and transfers it, with its air of momentary desolation, to another piece of furniture.

Every one's asking every one about it all day, and every one's telling every one where they put it last.

I'm sure it's rather smudgy about the twentieth page.

I've a strong impression, too, that the second volume is lost--has been packed in the bag of some departing guest; and yet everybody has the impression that somebody else has read to the end.

You see therefore that the beautiful book plays a great part in our existence.