Howard A. Rodman
I’m writing this because I just found out that my favorite bookseller in the world, Michel Roethel, is dead. He was mysterious and his bookstore obscure. It was on the Rue Lagrange in Paris. It sold the works of only one author. And its proprietor didn’t like selling books at all: M. Roethel always seemed unhappy when a book managed to leave his shop…
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This is a fantastic story. All the right amounts of charming.