Her gaze glanced off him and focused on a wall of books. "That's quite a library."
"Oh, that's just some of them."
He stayed where he was when she crossed over. Joyce, Yeats, Shaw. Those were to be expected. O'Neill, Swift, and Grayson Thane, of course. But there was a treasure trove of others.
Poe, Steinbeck, Dickens, Byron. The poetry of Keats and Dickinson and Browning. Battered volumes of Shakespeare and equally well-thumbed tales by King and MacAffrey and McMurtrey.
"An eclectic collection," she mused. "And there's more?"
"I keep them here and there around the house, so if you're in the mood, you don't have to go far. A book's a pleasant thing to have nearby."
Born in Shame
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Because sometimes all you need in life is a comfy chair and a good book.