George Smith arrived early at his club, hoping to find a quiet spot where he could settle down with his newspapers and skim through the theater and book reviews. Within half an hour every seat was taken and waiters with bar carts were rattling to and fro with their cargo of tinkling glass. George remained hidden behind his paper for fear of finding himself drawn into conversation and thereby losing a good quarter of an hour listening to Mr. Wheatstone grumble about how Certain Members helped themselves unfairly to the rice pudding or how that selfish Burton hogged all the newspapers. But when he heard William Makepeace Thackeray’s voice, George quickly folded the paper and rose to his feet. “Mr. Thackeray, sir.” “Sit, sit, Mr. Smith,” Thackeray said. He was a sizable man, endowed with height, bulk, and equally weighty opinions, generally of the cynical and contrary kind. Thackeray rarely took the time to read the works of new authors, and his opinions could be harsh. Nonetheless, George had confidently sent him an early copy of Jane Eyre.
What do You think about Romancing Miss Bronte (2010)?
