Somehow she needed to get through the next few days—the next few hours, even—but the café was uncomfortably noisy: ragtime played loudly on the radio, and voices crowded her in. Then came the rising panic, an unfamiliar sensation that threatened to overwhelm her, making her feel the need to escape. She moved to a more secluded seat nearer the bookcase and tried to focus on the few books while she waited. It was an eclectic selection of old fiction and classics, shabby editions of highbrow literature and poetry muddled in with the distinct golden spines of Reader’s Digest books. A noticeboard advertised local community events along with a regular book group held at the café that Penny had invited her to on more than one occasion.

A young serviceman at the nearest table caught her eye and smiled, so she averted her gaze, quickly turning back to the shelf. She pulled out a random book, its withered spine nearly disintegrating as she opened it and very carefully turned the pages. If she concentrated hard enough on the story, she was sure it would stop her from crying—but her vision misted, and the words blurred into each other.

“Which one would you recommend?” the serviceman asked.

It would be rude to ignore him, but she didn’t want a conversation either, so she replied without looking up. “I’m not sure I could recommend any of them.”

“Seen better days, haven’t they?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said, trying to hide her distress as she traced a finger along the barely readable spines. She came to a copy of To Have and Have Not in passable condition. “I’d probably try this. Have you read any Hemingway?”

“I’m more of a Dickens man—The Pickwick Papers . . . Bleak House. I like reading about home rather than foreign places.”

His Cockney accent was clearer now, and she passed him the book. He looked barely twenty with his baby face and slicked, parted hair.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she said, and smiled.

“I tried A Farewell to Arms, but I couldn’t get into it,” he said. “I just wish there was a bit more choice.”

“You know, there are book clubs you can join.”

“Yes, but they run out of books too quickly.”

Alice thought of her brother and was about to remind the young man of the subscription libraries when she realized that servicemen weren’t around long enough to benefit. It was all right for the public to rely on book lending by the local and circulating libraries, and the big four—W.H. Smith & Son, Boots Book-Lovers’ Library, Harrods and the Times Book Club—but if he was only home for short periods he wouldn’t be able to make the most of them.