Strutt shook it off angrily and confronted the tramp. Lined with grime, the hand slid down to his and touched his bag. At the door he furtively unbuttoned his shirt to protect his book still further, and a hand fell on his arm. He scanned the shelves again, but no cover caught his eye. Strutt had met his kind before and had them mutely patronize his reading. The man seemed not to recognize him, or perhaps he was pretending. ‘Well, I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid I can’t help you.’ I don’t think we have.’ He tapped his lip. ‘You know, books like this?’ Strutt held up his polythene bag to show the grey Ultimate Press cover of THE CANING-MASTER by Hector Q. Strutt approached him and inquired ‘Hello-any more exciting books this week?’ Chatting with the cashier, however, was an assistant who had praised Last Exit to Brooklyn to him when he had bought it last week, and had listened patiently to a list of Strutt’s recent reading, though he had not seemed to recognize the titles. Glancing sideways to observe whether the man would bend back the covers or break the spines, Strutt moved among the shelves, but could not find what he sought. Strutt clucked his tongue tramps shouldn’t be allowed in bookshops to soil the books. Girls were giggling over comic Christmas cards an unshaven man was swept in on a flake-edged blast and halted, staring around uneasily. On the shelves the current titles showed their faces while the others turned their backs. “ GOOD BOOKS ON THE HIGHWAY provided shelter he closed out the lashing sleet and stood taking stock.
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