With the changing of seasons, the darkness of night was arriving earlier, a fortunate thing, but it was still not early enough, leaving him to not be able to peruse the shelves as he often preferred, but instead forcing him to... rush. He couldn’t savor the soft fragrance of the books, the feeling of worn leather binding in his hands, nor could he take his time to decide. Should he leave a book on the shelf, there was always the chance a collector would call during the day to snatch it out of his grasp. What if, in his rush, he missed a true prize?
