A broad stairway led from the street to the upper hall, along which were the doors of a lawyer’s office, a dentist’s, a photographer’s "studio," the lodge-rooms of the Affiliated Order of Spartans and, at the back, the Perrys’ apartment.
These convictions she presented to Vida Sherwin—Vida Wutherspoon—beside a radiator, over a bowl of not very good walnuts and pecans from Uncle Whittier’s grocery, on an evening when both Kennicott and Raymie had gone out of town with the other officers of the Ancient and Affiliated Order of Spartans, to inaugurate a new chapter at Wakamin.
There are no more uses of "ancient Sparta" in the book.
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Friday night I split wood and fell asleep reading about the Spartans.
Laurie Halse Anderson -- The Impossible Knife of Memory