Each book has its own unique details. I am more than a little bit obsessed.
All that really remains of this hotel are old postcards and apparently a collection of books from its library that sit in a Habitat ReStore in the mountains of North Carolina.
These books transport me. People read these books on vacation in Florida, before the tourist traps, and Disney World, and Universal Studios, and strip malls. I imagine some rebellious teenaged girl reading the copy of Grey Wethers, written Vita Sackville-West (Virginia Woolfe's lover, gasp!), tucked in the library away from her family.
I wish we'd bought the entire collection. For a dollar each, we've brought home all sorts of things for me to daydream about for ages.