Unsettled Spirits

Unsettled Spirits by Alice Duncan Page A

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peripherally involved with a couple of them, I didn't blame her. "The good side of my family," she added because she and I both knew about the other side.
    "How nice. I'm glad my parents live here in Pasadena and I don't have to travel to see them."
    "Hmm," said she, frowning slightly. "If I had your family, I'd probably wish they lived closer to me, too. But never mind families. Look at these." She bent down—she was sitting on a high stool—and hauled out a pile of books I was surprised she could lift, what with her being sort of skinny and all. She plopped them on the desk and smiled proudly.
    "Oh, my goodness! Look at all of those!" I whispered, but I was delighted and whispering was a strain.
    "There are several westerns for your father," said Miss Petrie. "And then I'm not sure you'll enjoy this one, but figured you might give it a try. It's Sleeping Fire , by Gertrude Atherton."
    "Ah," said I, thinking nerts on that one. Not that I didn't appreciate Miss Atherton's creativity and so forth, but her earlier books hadn't been to my taste which, I guess, is low, because I prefer Mr. P.G. Wodehouse and other funny stuff like his.
    She laughed softly. "You never know. You might like this one better than her last couple. But look here! Two new books by Mr. P.G. Wodehouse."
    And, lo and behold, there appeared before my eyes The Inimitable Jeeves and Leave it to Psmith . "Oh, thank you!"
    "And here's another one for you. It's a children's book, but it's truly darling. It's called The Voyages of Dr. Doolittle , by a fellow named Mr. Hugh Lofting. Dr. Doolittle is a most interesting character, and he meets up with some fascinating creatures."
    What the heck. "Thank you. I'll give it a read."
    "I think you'll like it. And here are a couple of Edgar Wallace novels. We just got in his last Lieutenant Bones book, Bones in London , and I do believe we're going to be getting Bones of the River soon. It takes so long for books to travel from Great Britain to us, you know."
    "Yes. I know. And there are so many good British authors, too." I decided there was no real need for the note of sadness in my voice. After all, some Americans wrote good books, too. As if to prove it, Miss Petrie lifted One of Ours , by Willa Cather. "Here. You might enjoy this one."
    "Thanks." Truth to tell, and I know Willa Cather is an American icon these days, but I'd found her books a trifle flat. But please don't tell anyone that. My favorite American author was Mrs. Mary Roberts Rinehart—or she had been before she began writing books about the war.
    "And I know you'll like this." And she lifted a book called The Secret Adversary , by Mrs. Agatha Christie.
    "Oh!" I cried, perhaps a trifle too loudly, because Miss Petrie glanced around the library. More quietly, I said, "Is this another one with that little Belgian fellow in it? I loved Murder on the Links and The Mysterious Affair at Styles ."
    "Monsieur Poirot? No. This is one features a married couple, Tommy and Tuppence Beresford. They're spies. Of a sort."
    "Oh. Well, I'll give it a try." I wasn't much excited by spy stories, but I expected Mrs. Christie would have given her characters and plot a nice twist or two.
    "Here's another one I think you'll enjoy. It's The Film Mystery , by Mr. Arthur B. Reeves. It's not a new book, but we just got this copy in. I know you enjoyed his Professor Craig Kennedy books."
    "Yes, I did. Thank you!"
    "And here are two newish Edgar Rice Burroughs books for your father," said Miss Petrie in her normal librarian's voice. "I know he likes Mr. Burroughs." She set out Tarzan the Terrible and Tarzan and the Golden Lion.
    "He might have read this one," I said, holding up Tarzan the Terrible , "but Pa probably won't mind rereading it. I love rereading books." A case in point was Mary Roberts Rinehart's The Circular Staircase , which I must have read a dozen times by that particular day.
    "Speaking of that," said Miss Petrie as if she'd been reading my thoughts, "at last Mrs.

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