When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Dim corridors of overcrowded shelving, dry dusty air, and a world of titled spines, gold-tipped pages, and mountains of journals. This was the world of Ina and Douglas Bell, booksellers on Castlereagh Street. Mr Bell, a small man with a wealth of slicked-back hair and spectacles perched rakishly on his nose, was glorying over a trunkful of books, just arrived in. Mrs Bell, tall and quiet, noted prices on the inside cover of each addition and strolled the shelves to find their perfect position. Rosalie found their store peaceful and enjoyed the endless literary-themed conversations. She’d also discovered that if any piece of information was wanted, no matter how esoteric, then Bell’s Bookstore was the place to come. The front door was open promptly at ten o’clock each morning, Monday thr