He's not alone. Bossuet's progress gets slower and slower as he stops to admire covers--and then to read titles--and then to pick up one or two books just briefly and glance through them--

Ahem. He trundles along again to catch up.

In fact, there's an entire downstairs section for second-hand books. It has that smell of air that doesn't move around much; unlike the tempting displays of the front, the books here are wedged into a maze of bookshelves and small rooms. Bossuet has a current map tucked under his elbow, but he's also accumulated a few volumes along the way. Not that he's planning to put them on Lecter's credit card, or anything, it's just--he's just looking, all right?