ABSTRACT
He was dining once1 with Thomas Hardy, and as they were finishing their coffee he asked Hardy the very same question. ‘What do you do, Hardy, about books that are sent to you for signature?’
‘Yeats’, said Hardy, ‘come with me, there is something upstairs I want to show you’. At the top of the house Hardy opened a door, and the two poets entered a larger room. This room was covered from floor to ceiling with books. Hardy waved his hand at the odd-thousand volumes that filled the room. ‘Yeats’, said he, ‘these are the books that were sent to me for signature’.
