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few to mention, and may his faults die with him,’ and paraphrase it.”
    “How?”
    “Virtue and vice are too subjective. I would take modern properties that I value: ‘His knowledge of his fellow man was too great to describe, and may it die with him.’ ”

TUESDAY
    MORNING
    “Good morning, Alice.”
    She beamed at him like the morning sun. “Good morning, Mr. Beale. Good morning, Mrs. Beale.”
    Charles climbed the stairs to the office. Morgan was already in his nook.
    “On the hunt?” Charles asked.
    “Yes, sir. There’s an auction in San Francisco next month.”
    “Let me see.” Charles stood over Morgan’s shoulder and looked at the list. “A few things. I might call Jacob and see if he’s going. Do you see anything we need?”
    “I’ll check against inventory. This is what’s up on eBay since yesterday. And Briary Roberts just put a bunch of new stuff on their website.”
    “Did we sell anything?”
    “Three volumes. Nothing big. I’ll mail them this afternoon.”
    “Carry on.”
    Dorothy was just sitting at her desk. Charles plopped down at his and opened the newspaper.
    “Do you have plans for the day?” she asked.
    It was in the morning that her voice was the most musical. “Tell me what you’ll be doing,” Charles said.
    “I’ll finish this set of invoices and then I’m going to call Wilhelmina Stratton about the banquet Saturday evening. We have to start on the fall catalog this week . . . Charles, are you listening?”
    His eyes were closed. “Of course, dear.”
    “Then what did I say?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. I just like to hear you talk. Your voice is a symphony to me, your words are pure notes—”
    “Would you empty the trash, please?” Dorothy said.
    He sat up. “First I need to read it.” He opened the newspaper and scanned the front page.
    “Anything?” Dorothy said.
    “What a sordid world.” He folded the paper and dropped it in the wastebasket. “What a human world. It’s all scandals and failings.”
    “There’s more to it than the front page of the Washington Post .”
    “Yes, there are other sections, but they are all still human.”
    “What in the world else would there be? Don’t you have enough to do, Charles?”
    “I have plenty to do.”
    “Because if you don’t, you could file these invoices.”
    “I would love to, but I really have quite a bit to do.”
    “I was just asking.”
    Charles found his telephone book and looked up a number.
    “Thank you for calling the office of Congresswoman Karen Liu,” the telephone said.
    “You’re welcome. My name is Charles Beale, and I would like to meet with the congresswoman.”
    “Mr. Beale, is there anything I can help you with?”
    “No, I’m sorry. It would need to be with her.”
    “She’s very busy, of course.” The voice was very polite. “Are you from her district in California?”
    “No,” Charles said. “I’m not a constituent, and I’m not a lobbyist or reporter.”
    “What would you want to discuss with the congresswoman?”
    “I was a friend of a man named Derek Bastien, who died several months ago. He worked in the Justice Department.”
    The voice did not realize for a moment that Charles had finished his turn.
    “Are you with the Justice Department?” it finally asked.
    “No. I’m not with the government. I’m a bookseller, actually.”
    That was enough for the voice to be finished with the conversation. “Mr. Beale, let me take your number and I’ll pass it on to her chief of staff. She is very busy, though, and she is usually not available.”
    “I’m not sure if you’re serious,” Dorothy said after he’d hung up.
    “I am.”
    “You didn’t give any good reason she should take time to meet you.”
    “I hope I didn’t. And now I am going to visit Norman Highberg.”
    “You’re going to Georgetown?”
    “I need the exercise.”
    “I thought you had too much to do.”
    “This is one of the things.”
    “Then have a nice morning. I know better