because he was responsible for them. Telling the typically cranky Nelson the tragic news would be an ugly affair. “Morning, Runit,” Nelson said, inhaling deeply that flawless blend of paper, ink, and age. The scent of a million books. Although just eight years the librarian’s senior, Nelson looked much older, with his perpetually messy hair and a face full of blond and grey stubble. Nelson ate the wrong foods, drank a bit too much, and even smoked “bacs.” Cigarettes hadn’t been manufactured since the Banoff, but private farms produced a similar
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