It wouldn't be a lie to say That's right, and be done with it. He has his book—the Griswold is a far denser volume than he one he'd substituted it with—, and may be politely on his way given a few polite overtures and by stepping back across the barricade of stacked reading. But when has Laurentius Vesperus ever been able to ignore the scratch of curiosity?

"In the strictest sense," he says, tucking the heavy book under his arm. In this shaded corner, he cuts a long and gloomy figure. "Southern Thedas is something of a novelty."

In the way paying two coppers to see a rabid Fade-touched raccoon is a novelty.

"If you get through the Hylan and Sister Medill and want further reading, I might have something I could lend."