I sometimes wonder, when buying secondhand genre books, what the seller thinks of them (and, for that matter, me). Is this someone who has decided to share their private collection? Someone baffled by the discovery of a secret stash in the attic? A faceless corporation on whom these items had been offloaded?
Judging by the personalised card tucked into my latest acquisition, I think it’s fair to say that C from London is in the first camp. Many thanks for the extra smile!
Acknowledging Imperfection 