The very idea of sitting at a table for three hours, just reading and writing, was peculiar—even without other distractions. He fidgeted in his chair and looked around the room. He had thought that Professor Buckler's living quarters were full of books. But this place was books. From floor to ceiling every wall was covered with them. Bookshelves broke into the living space, so that just to move around the room you had to walk along long, narrow book-lined aisles. In fact—he stared around again—there was no living space. He could see no bed, no kitchen or bathroom. Alan Singh was sitting at another little table about ten feet away. He saw Job's head movements and laid down the book he was reading. "Look, when you are all through I'll give you a full tour if you want it." His accent in chachara-calle was improving, but Job thought that he would never fully lose his foreign twang. And when it came to difficult subjects or fast talking, Singh still preferred to switch to standard English.
