There was no logic in the books he was looking at, given how he moved around.
When she wrote seriously, often something small would attach itself to her mind and serve as background. A theme for her writing, she called it.
Zelda had been certain that the theme for this writing would be the library itself. Every time she walked into it she felt the pure beauty of its lines. It spoke to her in a way the garden never had and in a way the unpredictable corridors and odd doorways never would. The library became the backdrop, however, and the real theme was Frater.
He avoided looking at her directly, and they seldom spoke, but he was in almost constant communication with her. He’d leave a book open on one desk for her to glance at as she walked past, or he’d leave a book on her desk for her t
