He glanced at the titles and the authors' names, read fragments of text, caressing the volumes with his eyes and hands, and, once, recognized a book he had read.

For the rest, they were strange books and strange authors.

He chanced upon a volume of Swinburne and began reading steadily, forgetful of where he was, his face glowing.

Twice he closed the book on his forefinger to look at the name of the author.

Swinburne! he would remember that name.