Pretty soon the fire was spreading along the entire shelf, the books burning as rapidly as if they were doused in petrol.
A whole stream of hot, raging, roaring amber. Then another spark arced towards a different shelf and that too set alight.
At about the same time a large chunk of dusty ceiling landed by Nora’s feet.
“Under the table!” ordered Mrs Elm. “Now!” Nora hunched down and followed Mrs Elm – who was now on all fours – under the table,
where she sat on her knees and was forced, like Mrs Elm, to keep her head down.
“Why can’t you stop this?” “It’s a chain reaction now. Those sparks aren’t random.
The books are going to be destroyed. And then, just as inevitably, the whole place is going to collapse.”
“Why? I don’t understand. I was there. I had found the life for me. The only life for me. The best one in here...”
“But that’s the problem,” said Mrs Elm, nervously looking out from beneath the wooden legs of the table
as more shelves caught on fire and as debris fell all around them.
“It still wasn’t enough. Look!” “At what?” “At your watch. Any moment now.”
So Nora looked, and at first saw nothing untowardbut then it was happening.
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