Walking through a library—any library—as they made their way to the exterior had its usual comforting, balancing effect on Irene. It was a reassurance that such places existed and that they would continue, even if she herself was as temporary as any other human.

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I dislike the fact that she treated you like a servant," Kai commented. His voice had an undertone to it that promised reprisals.
"Leave it for the moment," Irene said wearily. "I'm not going to waste my time feeling insulted. And don't you think we've got more serious problems to consider? Much more serious problems?

I think my point holds. People want stories. You should know that more than anybody. They want their lives to have meaning. They want to be part of something greater than themselves. Even you, Miss Winters, want to be a heroic Librarian—don't you? And if you're going to say that people need to have the freedom to be unhappy, something that's forced on them whether they like it or not, I would question your motivation." She paused for a single deadly second. "Most people don't want a brave new world. They want the story that they know.

What business is it of mine if they should want to kill each other? I'd say they both show excellent judgement."
"Sounds about right to me," Evariste said harshly. "Not my circus, not my monkeys. If they want to tear each other to bits, they can get on with it, and good luck to them.

Here and there people sat at desks, carefully turning the pages of manuscripts, or unrolling scrolls and making notes. It comforted her. This is a place built to store books, by people who wanted to preserve books, and used by people who want to read those books. I am not alone.