I had my horn-rimmed sunglasses on. I put my voice high and let a bird twitter in it. "Would you happen to have a Ben Hur 1860?" She didn’t say: "Huh?" but she wanted to. She smiled bleakly. "A first edition?" "Third," I said. "The one with the erratum on page 116." "I’m afraid not—at the moment." "How about a Chevalier Audubon 1840--the full set, of course?" "Er—not at the moment," she purred harshly. Her smile was now hanging by its teeth and eyebrows and wondering what it would hit when it dropped. "You do sell books?" I said in my polite falsetto.
