She was, she guessed, close to the library. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. There was no rush. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had.
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