J P Morgan Library New York City 소설 & 이야기

She didn’t show it, but her own heart always skipped a beat whenever she met someone who truly loved her friend’s books. ***** Chrysler Building, 37th floor, Lexington Avenue, one of the most iconic buildings in New York City. This was where Jessica Lopez’s office was located. She had eight staff members: two accountants, two in marketing, two in the creative department, one personal assistant, and one personal secretary. The office wasn’t large, but it was stylish and elegant, perfectly matching the personality of the famous author. Her personal office was situated in the loft area of the main floor.

I asked Deb for a clear morning and she gave it to me with the particular competence of someone who understood that clear mornings were not indulgences but maintenance. I went to the Library of Congress. I had never been inside. Nora had asked about it, years ago, before any of this, before the campaign, when Washington was still a city I came to for meetings and left again. I had promised to go with her and I had not yet managed it, but I had been thinking about it. The main reading room stopped me at the entrance the way beautiful rooms sometimes do. I stood there for a moment. The light and the height and the silence of accumulated knowledge, all the things that had ever been written down

"Morgan, why did you bring snacks to the library?" She removed another pack of fruit jelly from her bag and said, "I need something to snack on when I'm tired of studying. Otherwise, I won't have enough energy." Julian reminded her, "Yeah okay, but this is a library." Morgan waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry, they're not so strict here. I brought snacks here when Bennett came with me last winter holiday." Morgan even brought drinks with her.

The library behind them, open, receiving its second day. Miriam looked at the building from the street. The covered approach. The bones room glass. The building in its full completed form, present in the city it had been built for. "It knows what it is," she said. He looked at the building. He thought about the library notes and the fifty-two pages and the five years and the chain from Morrow Street to the reading room. He thought about the woman in the southeast corner reading for an hour and a half on the first day. He thought about the forty-one pauses on the fourth tread.

It was late, but I didn’t care; I needed to see her now. I quietly got dressed while Moana slept, taking one last glance at her before I slipped out of the room and headed outside. And soon, I was driving my car across the quiet city, and pulling up to the curb outside the library. It was a massive stone building that had been a part of this city since the city was built. The librarians here were always from the same family, and the library would be passed down to each generation. There was something almost ominous about the building, but I swallowed my nerves and walked up the front steps to the big, ornate wooden door and pressed the doorbell.

Jax’s POV The Harrington Library at 1:00 AM felt less like a center for learning and more like a mausoleum for dead dreams. The air was stale, smelling of ancient parchment and the lingering scent of floor wax. I moved through the stacks with the silent precision I’d honed sneaking out of my parents' Manhattan penthouse, my eyes scanning the shadows for a flash of navy blue or a mess of dark hair.