Death of a Book Salesman

My love of books borders on fetish. I love holding them, reading them, possessing them, just looking at them sitting on shelves. When a friend offers to lend me a book I politely refuse because I know I don’t have it in me to return it. One of the world’s most pleasurable smells is that of stack after stack of old, hardbound books in a large library. There are few things that give me more pleasure than reading a book.
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