Many years ago I spent an afternoon with Seymour Adelman with the collection he had donated to the Bryn Mawr College. I held in my hand and read a letter written by Keats, and A. E. Housman's notebooks. Then, one or another of us noted the time. We had to leave. It was closing time. We had been there for hours, but it seemed as if we had just arrived. Never have I had such an odd experience of time - hours passing in what seemed like minutes.