Doris Padmore had used the word “dapper” only loosely until Arthur Wyndham first walked into the library. Now, she knew, she was seeing the real thing.
He was slender and stood about 5 feet, 9 inches tall. His hair and moustache, both neatly trimmed, were a rich gray. He wore a brown necktie with his fine three-piece suit of tweed. He removed his coordinating summer fedora upon entering the library. His black wing tips were well, but not slavishly, polished. He wanted only an umbrella or a spaniel to be the very picture of an English gentleman.
Or, Mrs. Padmore thought, a refugee from a time when dressing nicely to go into public view wasn’t considered declasse.
Continue reading “Fiction: The Library Patron”