Arm of the Sphinx (The Books of Babel, #2)

by Josiah Bancroft

Nancy rushed into the room, followed closely by Iren and Edith, both carrying sacks that bulged with the corners of books. “Please, please,” Nancy said through tears, clutching a thick little book, “don’t take my diary. It is my confidant; it is my little soul. Take the silver! Take the china! Please leave my book.” Her pleading pierced Senlin. He dropped his hold on her father. “I’m sorry we have traumatized you. You may keep your book, Nancy.” “I’m sure my daughter is much consoled. Don’t pretend you have been reasonable. This is not reason. This is violence!” “It is exasperation,” Senlin said, looking sick with loathing and anger. “You robber! You bully! I don’t believe you were ever anything else.” Edith stepped forward briskly and boxed the man on the ear. “That’s enough,” she said as Pencastle swung back around, cradling his ear. “Just because you don’t recognize mercy doesn’t mean you haven’t been shown it.” “But why must he take my books?” the doctor pleaded, his chin gleaming with spittle, his composure utterly shattered. “Because the Tower has asked for them,” Senlin said.