A YOUNG woman the world easily forgets, but who the literary world at least should not forget, is Margaret Anderson.

She was born in 1886 in Indianapolis in the United States, to a well-to-do family and a mother who almost every year got the urge to move house—with new furniture, tablecloths, curtains and paintings.

Margaret was not like her mother, but she had restlessness of her own.

One night, when she was 21, she woke from sleep after a