By Jac Harmon
In the country house library Clare lifts Victor Hugo from the shelf and tickles his spine with her feather duster. (Clare always dusts the books before she vacuums.) The author materializes, bringing the sharp odor of mold with him.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Hugo.”
He doesn’t speak, only shimmers in the pale morning sunlight.
“You are in remarkable condition,” she says as she cradles the volume. “Although somewhat flaky along the spine.”
He is not as irascible as her other gentlemen. If he remains, Clare might read him a paragraph or two. She could never read for Mr Dickens. She would not dare.
Lovely.
Sharp imagery. You can smell the dust and mold. Loved it!
Beautiful and great imagery – I loved it!
Loved this! Nicely done.
Great imagination! Really enjoyed it.