Once, while I 1 was walking in a park in London, I 2 saw an old strange-looking man. He 3 was sitting on a bench 4 holding a closed book in his hands. I
5 sat down on the bench and 6 looked at the book. I 7 saw that the book 8 was of great interest. It 9 was a very old copy of early Byron's
works. I 10 looked at the old man in
surprise and 11 understood that he 12 had known I 13 had sat on the bench because of him and the book he 14 was holding in his hands. I 15 smiled. "It is the last I 16 have," he said and 17 stretched it out to me. I 18 took with the words, "I 19 am a lover of old books."
I 20 opened this small book and 21 looked at the date. "Oh,"
I said. "It 22 is a remarkable
book." "Yes," he 23 sighed.
"I 24 have to sell it to buy
the necessities of life. I 25 have had
a hard life and this book 26 has always been
a comfort to me."
I 27 nodded and 28 thought that I 29 had
never seen such a remarkable book.