Thursday, 24 June 2010

I am not supposed to be buying any more books. For a while.
At least until I have made an impression on The Pile.
But as I walked into the charity shop at lunchtime, I thought vaguely how nice it would be if I happened on a copy of Norman Collins' novel London Belongs To Me.
And there it was. In its 1945 bookjacket. A bit dusty but more or less unbattered.
So what could I do?
It was a Sign.
Saying, 'Buy Me.'

4 comments:

Thomas at My Porch said...

There isn't a court in the world that would convict you for buying that gem.

mary said...

I did feel that it had my name on it, Thomas!

Darlene said...

That's what I'm reading now and the characters are making it quite the adventure. So glad you found a copy!

mary said...

Oh, good - I haven't started it yet, Darlene. I noticed that you were reading it and I think that was what reminded me that I'd been meaning to look out for it ... was so surprised when I saw it sitting on the shelf waiting for me!