The writer lived in a small flat at top floor in Chelsea. He bought so many books that they got piled up in his room. They are so worthless that none would like to buy them. He wanted to dispose them off. He could not burn them on the cooker or the small heater in his study room. So he decided to throw them into the nearby river. He improvised a sack and stuffed it with the books. He put it on his shoulder and went downstairs in the darkness of the night.
It was nearby mid-night. Few people were about. There was a cold nip in the air. On his way he came across a policeman. The writer trembled because the policeman might take hi m for a thief. But the policeman took no notice of him. The writer drew a sigh of relief. Then he reached the embankment of the river.
On the bridge the writer tried to find a proper place to drop the sack. Once he was leaning against the low—wall and looking down into water. Suddenly he heard a step behind him. He sprang back and started walking with an air of carelessness. But the pedestrian was absorbed in thoughts. He was actually a tramp.
Then another idea disturbed him. He thought whoever was within sight and heard the splash he would rush and seize him suspecting that he had thrown a baby into the river. The idea tested teased him very much. He strode up and down the bridge-road summoning up his courage. At last, he dropped the sack. A vast splash was heard. Then silence fell again. Nobody came and the writer returned home feeling sad for his books.
It was nearby mid-night. Few people were about. There was a cold nip in the air. On his way he came across a policeman. The writer trembled because the policeman might take hi m for a thief. But the policeman took no notice of him. The writer drew a sigh of relief. Then he reached the embankment of the river.
On the bridge the writer tried to find a proper place to drop the sack. Once he was leaning against the low—wall and looking down into water. Suddenly he heard a step behind him. He sprang back and started walking with an air of carelessness. But the pedestrian was absorbed in thoughts. He was actually a tramp.
Then another idea disturbed him. He thought whoever was within sight and heard the splash he would rush and seize him suspecting that he had thrown a baby into the river. The idea tested teased him very much. He strode up and down the bridge-road summoning up his courage. At last, he dropped the sack. A vast splash was heard. Then silence fell again. Nobody came and the writer returned home feeling sad for his books.
