I doubt if any book‐lover likes to read out‐of‐doors, unless, in snatches, at a book‐stall. The glare is painful, there are the quivering shadows of leaves, you either fry or shiver, and “things that creep or fly” explore your book and your person. There are people, mostly women, who can devour books anywhere. But they are not book‐lovers. They are fiction‐addicts.
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