Gloria, who knows nothing yet of The Day the Books Got Bossy

Because of these

The Reading Man had no intention of ending up wearing these with a hockey jersey rather than his  more flattering, possibly retro flannels, challis shirt of a tiny and masculine subdued print and his deep-pocketed but fitting appropriately at the shoulders all-weather coat.

On days when it stormed, Mr. Apotienne (aka TRM) longed to occupy his bentwood chair (or occasionally the substituted pressback companion) until it might be late enough and dark enough that he could offer to walk Gloria home.   Though he had never played golf in his life, he saw the utility and appeal of a golf umbrella, room for two without overstepping, almost impervious to on-shore gusts.  He also knew himself well enough to understand that a day of walking skipped because of the weather was the thin edge of the wedge to sloth, and could mooning about and sighing be far behind?  He thought it trite to consider the stormy days bracing, yet they were just that.  So good for clearing a muddled head.  He hoped they worked some magic on his arteries as well.  Mr. Apotienne was by no definition a solely indoor and easy pursuits sort of fellow.  He was imaginative about fixing things and building simple, time-resistant furniture.  Beginning in childhood, life had revealed itself to him through the land, the seasons, the birds and beasts, what would grow and what would not and a gradually acquired ability to read the sky.

What prompted him to bring much of his Noel Coward collection as a portion of holiday reading he could not say.  As he ambled, or, more accurately,  shuffled, back bent, peering along his shelves before packing, the familiar spines seemed to, well, shimmer, standing apart from other titles in a way that made them alluring and right.  Once he had stacked the volumes on the floor, his commitment to them declared, no other books called attention to themselves in any way.  He was on his own for the rest of his choices.  Nor could he explain - and it is important to know that Mr. Apotienne was loathe to explain any of his behavior or thought process ever to anyone - why he pocketed the paperback with three plays including Blithe Spirit when he set out that first morning for a light repast.  He knew there must have been a sharp jab with an imaginary pointy stick that caused him to begin reading out loud while waiting for his first - oh, the heaven of it - plate of Gloria's breakfast pastries to be set before him.  He examined himself for bruises or punctures when he returned to his cottage and found none.  Which did not mean the jabbing hadn't happened.