Something glistened in the man’s hand.  Grace eyed it suspiciously, all the while wondering what it could be.  Her eyes fell back onto the book and she instantly stretched her shaking hand to pick it up.

          A tatty, brown laced brooch pressed down on the book preventing Grace rereading it.

 “STOP!”

          Grace snatched her hand back.

          “My advice to you is to choose another book,” advised the old man gently with a hint of wisdom.

          Grace plucked up the courage to speak.  “But I feel like this book has chosen me!  Of all the books here, I am drawn to this one.  I can’t explain how or why but I can’t rest until my eyes have devoured its contents.”

          “I admire your determination and maybe you are strong enough to deal with its contents.”  The man’s voice softened.  “This book is dangerous in the wrong hands so you must guard it with your life.  You may take it but promise to return it by dusk next Wednesday.”