He nodded and pulled out three more books.

“There’s less than a week left in my employment here,” she ventured.

“I’m already working on your letter of recommendation,” he said gruffly. “You needn’t worry after it.”

Disappointment punched into her gut. His preparation of the letter made everything so much more solid, real.

Too real.

Before she attempted a different angle, he reached into the box and withdrew a book bound in a length of canvas. He laid it on the counter with reverence and carefully withdrew the cloth.

The book inside was filthy. Dirt left brown smears over the golden yellow cover, and a rust-colored stain seeped from its worn face down into the pages beneath. Grace tilted her head to read the spine.

Quantentheorie des einatomigen idealen Gases by Albert Einstein.

She straightened as a chill prickled over her skin. “Is that German?”

“It is.” Mr. Evans lips tucked together, his brows edging together. “It was saved from the book burning the Nazis did around seven years ago. Foyle has been determined to get his hands on all of them and even made a bid to Hitler himself. Who knows why?” Mr. Evans put his hands over the cover, hovering without touching. “Knowing Foyle, he’d probably stuff them into the sandbags around his shop like he does with the rest of the old books he’s used so callously.”

Grace had seen the squared off sandbags in front of Foyles and had wondered at their shape. Never had she dreamed he would have filled them with old books. Her gaze wandered to the reddish-brown stain on the cover of the battered tome. It was fascinating and yet disconcerting.

“What is that?” She indicated the book.

Mr. Evans drew in a long inhale and slowly let it out. “Blood.” He lifted the book free of the cloth. “Old blood. Hitler didn’t take kindly to the books he meant to burn being hidden.”

His unspoken suggestion dropped on her with horror. “Do you mean someone may have died to save it?”

She followed him into the back room where he moved around several boxes to reveal a safe embedded in the wall. She blinked in surprise, having never even known of its existence.

“Most likely.” He spun at the knob, ignoring the keyhole an inch below it, and the door swung open with a heavy, metallic groan. Inside were nearly a dozen more books with German titles along their spines. While not new, none were in the same poor condition as the one by Albert Einstein.