Humphry October 1 “About time you learned some,” the bookseller grumbled when he looked at the cover of this month’s book. I’d interrupted him stacking leather-bound sets of Charles Dickens on a display table. I was interested to spot a surprisingly toned forearm peeking out of a rolled-up shirtsleeve in the process: so he didn’t just sit at his desk and make snide remarks all day, after all. Though it was definitely how he spent the majority of his time. I gave him a smirk and shoved my ten pounds at him. “The customer service in here is excellent, as always.” “I aim to please,” he said with a bow. “Well, your aim is terrible,” I said. He held my change in his hand for a minute as though he was weighing it up. “Look, sorry if I was a bit . . . forthright in my opinion the last time you were in,” he said finally, running a hand through his unruly hair.
