In the Library of Congress Reading Room

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Winged children heft imposing signs; bronze thinkers gaze down on our efforts -- all this marble, high gold leaf, these figures in relief, these august names hang over us, while down below, the arcs of readers hunch, write, read, muse, dream, rummage, rub their eyes. One nibbles her little finger under the gaze of Solon with his scroll. Another appears to doodle -- no! In such a place all grocery lists perforce include acanthus leaves, are put in sonnet form (Petrarchan like as not). -- 30 --{et

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