At the Bookstall在书报摊旁

I have often longed to be a grocer. To be surrounded by so many interesting things—sardines， bottled raspberries， biscuits with sugar on the top， preserved ginger， hams， brawn under glass， everything in fact that makes life worth living; at one moment to walk up a ladder in search of nutmeg， at the next to dive under a counter in pursuit of cinnamon; to serve little girls with a ha’porth of pear drops and lordly people like you and me with a pint of cherry gin—is not this to follow the king of trades？ Some day I shall open a grocer’s shop， and you will find me in my spare evenings aproned behind the counter. Look out for the currants in the window as you come in—I have an idea for something artistic in the way of patterns there; but， as you love me， do not offer to buy any. We grocers only put the currants out for show， and so that we may run our fingers through them luxuriously when business is slack. I have a good line in shortbreads， madam， if I can find the box， but no currants this evening， I beg you.

我经常渴望能成为一个食品杂货商。（剩余7170字）