s.

    Mr rey raises emper  it,  wle. her slice of goose.

    to you last.

    For t volume, of course. ter.  t, Rivers?

    Astonishing, sir.

    s like? An universal bibliograp Englishmen.

    t to life. A fantastic ac.

    Fantastic, indeed—more so, exts I collect must cloak tity in deception and anonymity. t texts tamped ail as to place and date of publication and impress.  titles. t t pass darkly, via secret cion. Consider to to me, sir, of fantastic labour! rembles in a mirter.

    I cannot conceive it, says Mr Rivers. And the Index is organised . . .?

    By title, by name, by date abled, most precisely

    the books?

    tly, Maud?

    tlemen turn to me. I sip my  t, I say, of Men for Beasts.

    My uncle nods. So, so, ance our bibliograpo tudent of t able Bible.

    trey, smiling, enjoying tcill looking earnestly at my uncle.

    A great ambition, he says now.

    A great labour, says Mr huss.

    Indeed, says Mr rey, turning again to me. I am afraid, Miss Lilly, your uncle continues to work you very mercilessly.

    I so task, I say, as servants are.

    Servants and young ladies, says Mr  sorts of creatures.  said so, many times? Girls eyes s be  he gripping of pens.

    So my uncle believes, I say, s is o save, of course, not my fingers.

    And inius, so dedicated a collector he sake of his library.

    te,  drive o violence for literatures sake, and we shall never forgive you.

    tlemen laugh.