"There's nothing quite like a good library, is there?"

The elderly man walked down the long gallery, his cane clicking on the polished floor at each step. His right arm was outstretched, allowing him to brush his fingers over each shelf as he passed.

"I've seen 'em all," he went on, not bothering to look at the young woman at his side. "New York, Oxford... I was in Alexandria once, though the old place is long gone. They're all different, but you can tell as soon as you step inside which ones are the good ones."

The young assistant librarian looked around at the rows of books, shelf after dark-stained shelf of leather-bound knowledge. "And what about this one, sir?" she asked, reaching her own hand out to touch the spines as they passed.

"Here? This place is the best library," the old man said. He stopped, surrounded by books, and turned to smile warmly at his apprentice. "Do you know why? Because it's mine."