Eliot's Bookshop is a place that marked my adolescence. This is where I would run to every weekend to spend my allowance, and a little later some of my student loan. This is where I bought my best editions featuring Collette, Anais Nin, Henry Miller, and Duras. Today I have to hunt down used books at cheaper locations (the BMV in the Annex being the Mecca), but I've suddenly felt an urge to revisit the old headquarters. Possibly because no other shop possesses the charm of 3 storeys worth of wall to wall pine shelving, smelling like decades of ardent bibliophilia.
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