This morning the reading room opened a little earlier than the kettles on the square. Silence arrived with her shoes already in her pocket, held up a card no bigger than a bookmark, and walked the aisle between the stacks. She nodded to the lamp. Only then did she sit, covering exactly one page, as if a second would have been greedy.
We asked at the kiosk by the steps. "I came for the gardening circular," said a man with a folded hat. "The librarian stamped the tiny card first. The lamp blinked once. After that nobody wanted to rustle."
From the suggestions notebook: please do not turn the leaf until Quiet has finished sitting. The lamp has already nodded, and that is quite enough light for a Tuesday.
The next morning the same card was back in the tray, still warm. Silence came again, nodded to the lamp, and sat on a fresh page as if she had never left.