Thick patterned carpets placed at precise intervals on the polished wood floor and leather-bound books shelved in the walls. Laurent wondered if they were actually read, or if they had been bought by the yard because the bindings matched the décor. He murmured a quick spell that would let him read the titles from this distance: Springtime for Poets; Boll-Weevil Eradication: Best Practices; The Proceedings of the Congress of Vienna. Definitely unread.
So bleak, yet so HGTV. Buying books just for aesthetics is so oddly depressing.
