Again, there was no title on the spine but a small one embossed on the front, precisely the same shade as the rest of the book.
It said: My Life. ‘But it’s not my life...’ ‘Oh Nora, they are all your lives.’
What do I do now?’ ‘You open the book and turn to the first page.
Nora did so. ‘O-kay,’ said Mrs Elm, with careful precision.Now, read the first line.
Nora stared down and read. She walked out of the pub into the cool night air...
And Nora had just enough time to think to herself, ‘Pub?’ After that, it was happening.
The text began to swirl and soon became indecipherable, in fast motion, as she felt herself weaken.
She never knowingly let go of the book, but there was a moment where she was no longer a person reading it,
and a consequent moment where there was no book – or library – at all.
The Three Horseshoes
Nora was standing outside in crisp, clean air. But unlike in Bedford, it wasn’t raining here.
‘Where am I?’ she whispered to herself. There was a small row of quaint stone terraced houses on the other side of the gently curving road.
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