Michael's face flamed with embarrassment at how out of hand he had let himself become. Scooping up the mess of musty paper, they headed to the front.
Michael laid the fatally wounded book on the counter and met the bookseller's disapproving glare. “Sorry,” he said.
The white-haired gentleman with the long twisting beard leveled a sour look on the couple. “I'll add it to your bill. That will be two dollars for this, three for your political thriller, and three for your lady friend's romance. Eight dollars, please.”
Michael pulled out his wallet and accepted a plastic bag with the two novels.
“Do you want the Shakespeare?” the bookseller asked.
“No need. I have several copies. I think this one is done for.”
The man looked at the scattered pages. He seemed to be chewing the inside of hi
