The shop is quiet on a cold Sunday morning.
He talks quickly, picking at the books on New Titles.
He grabs a copy of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and reads aloud from the final pages, jabbering out a passage about blue velvet curtains.
Blue velvet curtains! he says.
He reads very well, with a good deal of expression.
He puts the book back on the shelf.
Thank you, he tells me.
And then he leaves, as quickly as he has arrived, exclaiming loudly as he does so, You are never alone in a world full of books!