32
“It’s Edgar,” said the small girl. “He is for sale, you know.”
But the old book-lover, who had come armed with anger and resentment, thinking to find a cynical enemy, a monster of malice, an antibibliophile, stopped short, surprised, saddened, and overcome, before this little being devoid of strength and joy and hope.
Recognising his mistake, troubled by the almost human face which sorrow and suffering made more human still, he murmured “Forgive me” and bowed his head.
