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The Girl at the Library It was just after half past five as Denis hurried along the High Street, past Boots the Chemist's, and down the quaint little cobbled side street that led up to the city library.Then he quietly turned the handle of the glass door, entered the dark little room, and took a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica from the nearest shelf to the door.She had long dark brown hair, a prettily-shaped face, and there was an exquisite look of freshness and vitality about her.asked the woman in the apron in a coarse Lanca- shire accent.Positioning himself at the end of one of the shelves, he proceeded to take out a book and open it, an intent look on his face.The person whom Denis had come to the library to observe was a young woman, not much older than nineteen or twenty, he guessed.Somehow.

The Girl at the Library
It was just after half past five as Denis hurried along the High Street, past
Boots the Chemist's, and down the quaint little cobbled side street that led
up to the city library. He glanced at his watch and walked faster. A moment
later he pushed his way through the well-oiled swing doors and entered
the large building. After the noise and warmth of the town outside, it was
suddenly cool and pleasantly quiet in the library. The air smelt of books,
old and new.
Would she be there today? It was getting a bit late, so she might well have
gone home by now. Or she might not have come today--she didn't always.
He passed through the turnstile, and went over to the non-fiction shelves at
the opposite side of the long low-ceilinged room. Positioning himself at the
end of one of the shelves, he proceeded to take out a book and open it, an
intent look on his face. Although he had chosen the volume entirely at
random, and was not in the least concerned about the subject it might deal
with, he turned over the pages as if looking for something specific that they
might contain. The casual observer would have noticed nothing unusual; but
on closer examination it would have become obvious that Denis was
interested, not in the book in his hands, but in what he could see through the
glass door on his left, the door of the reference section. The moment he had
seen her, he closed the book and slowly replaced it among its companions.
Then he quietly turned the handle of the glass door, entered the dark little
room, and took a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica from the nearest
shelf to the door. Pushing his glasses higher up his nose, he sat down at the
polished table.
Denis had been looking forward to this moment all afternoon. But now it
was here, he felt oddly uncomfortable. He hardly dared to look up from the
Encyclopedia for more than an instant at a time, but those instants were
enough to fulfil the purpose of his visit. She was there, only a few feet away,
opposite him! And she was as gorgeous as ever.
The person whom Denis had come to the library to observe was a young
woman, not much older than nineteen or twenty, he guessed. She had long
dark brown hair, a prettily-shaped face, and there was an exquisite look of
freshness and vitality about her. Today she wore a white dress, very plain,
which suited her well. Her arms were bare and she wore no jewelry, not even
a simple ring. Denis thought for the thousandth time how beautiful, how rare
she was!
As he sat there in silence, he wondered, not for the first time, who she was,
what her name could be, why she came to the library so often. Nearly always
she had a pen and a pad of paper with her, and her place at the table was
always surrounded by books. He guessed that she must be a student at the
University, probably busy on a thesis.
Denis had never spoken to the girl. But on this particular occasion he was
determined that he would. Somehow. If only he wasn't so ridiculously shy!
At six o'clock the girl packed up her things, returned some of the books
in front of her to the shelves, and took the others with her. Denis hurriedly
replaced his Encyclopedia and followed her to the exit. He had decided-
this time he would follow her home! On the way he would invent an excuse
for speaking to her.
It wasn't long before the girl stopped at the gate of one in a row of
identical terraced houses. Could this be the house? He could hardly believe
that she might live in such a common little street! He hovered in the back-
ground, still unable to make up his mind to say anything to her. A stout
middle-aged woman in a torn apron and carpet slippers opened the door of
the house, and a small child, aged about two, ran down the steps to the gate.
The dark-haired girl caught the child up in her arms and it began screaming
with joy: “Mam! Mam!”
“Wha' yer so late for?” asked the woman in the apron in a coarse Lanca-
shire accent.
Denis did not wait to hear the girl's reply. He walked sadly down the street,
and the words of the little child as it had greeted its mother at the gate
sounded again and again in his ears.