He shuffled in his chair, sighing. It was time. Turning to the table next to him, he picked up his book and ran his fingers over the leather cover. Three quarters of the pages were worn, discoloured by the oil of fingers and thumbs. The final quarter was still pristine white, untouched, the same as when they were printed. He looked at them one last time; tempted to skip to the end but…knowing it wouldn’t be right. He walked over to the desk in the centre of the library. There were only three ...