CHAPTER 6Enid Jael sat yoga-fashion on the studio couch sneezing violently into a couple of hastily snatched Kleenex tissues. She was a stunning black girl of about nineteen, with huge eyes and crisp hair trimmed very short to show off the elegant shape of her skull. “Excuse me,” she apologized. “It’s all this book dust. I can go days without it bothering me, then suddenly it sneaks up and starts tickling again.”
Dust is one thing Shakespeare & Company has plenty of, along with thousands of old books and a cozy commune atmosphere. It occupies several floors of a tall, narrow house on the Quai de Montebello, just across the narrowest arm of the Seine from the majestic bulk of the cathedral of Notre Dame. The bookshop has catered to generations of English-language readers, providing a meeti
