All English literature was there, ancient and modern.

From Trying to Please by John Julius Norwich.  Page 220. 

The ingrained tradition of all Beirutis, of whatever class or station in life, was to take to the hills in the summer to escape the heat. “Estivating,” it was called—as opposed to hibernating. Smart Lebanese would express horror if you confessed—as we had happily done in 1957 and 1958—that you were remaining in town. “Comment?” they would cry aghast, “Comment, vous n’estivez pas à la montagne?”38 In the summer of 1959, however, we followed their example. The American University of Beirut was lucky enough to have as its Professor of English Literature a memorably wonderful Englishman called Christopher Scaife, who had spent most of his life in the Arab world, first in Egypt and more recently in Lebanon. Christopher had a house—known, after a former English owner, as Dar Worsley—near a village called Ain Anoub; he was returning to England for a couple of months and asked us to look after it for him. Anne was once again expecting, and was keen on having as quiet a life as possible, so we agreed with delight.

It was a sort of idyll: a rambling old building, dating probably from the middle of the nineteenth century, set on a wooded hillside at some 1,500 feet, with a breathtaking view over the sea. Life there was simple in the extreme—no electricity, only rudimentary running water, hard iron bedsteads, a single loo in the garden—but it was cool and beautiful, and—particularly after the previous summer—magically peaceful. There was a resident staff of two, who brought in wonderful hissing oil lamps as the light began to fail, and—best of all—Christopher’s superb library. It filled two whole rooms, the books stacked in dozens of freestanding metal bookcases. All English literature was there, ancient and modern.

I would drive down into the city at six in the morning, have a quick swim and be at the office at seven. We would then work uninterruptedly till two, when the Embassy closed for the day. Back up the mountain, and after a late lunch followed by a short siesta we would be ready for whatever Beirut social life had in store for us. Better still were the evenings where we could stay at home, sitting on the terrace in the warm, still night, reading.