Slowly but surely the Bookshelf grows to a half-decent forty. Although actually, the opposite is happening …
Each time I take a few books from my real shelves to add to the virtual one, they never seem to go back. Laziness, mostly, but also a result of my flicking through and finding something interesting in an old bookmark – as a result, every room in the flat has a little pile of Shakespeariana whilst my shelves grow emptier and emptier …
I found this today in one of my books. One of the hazards – especially as an arachnophobe – of buying most of your books second-hand. That’s a particularly nasty dried squelch at the back end of the spider, I think. It’s gone through two pages, giving them both pale tea-stains!
Not a chapter to be read in bed, then, in case the stowaway falls out and into my lap …
The Boar's Head, Eastcheap 