So what is it you're going to show me today?"
"A number of things. In fact, what I'm going to show you is part of a story. Didn't you tell me the other day that what you like to do is read?"
Bea nodded, arching her eyebrows.
"Well, this is a story about books."
"About books?"
"About accursed books, about the man who wrote them, about a character who broke out of the pages of a novel so that he could burn it, about a betrayal and a lost friendship. It's a story of love, of hatred, and of the dreams that live in the shadow of the wind."
"You sound like the jacket blurb of a Victorian novel, Daniel."
"That's probably because I work in a bookshop and I've seen too many. But this is a true story. As real as the fact that this bread they served us is at least three days old. And, like all true stories, it begins and ends in a cemetery, although not the sort of cemetery you imagine.
"A number of things. In fact, what I'm going to show you is part of a story. Didn't you tell me the other day that what you like to do is read?"
Bea nodded, arching her eyebrows.
"Well, this is a story about books."
"About books?"
"About accursed books, about the man who wrote them, about a character who broke out of the pages of a novel so that he could burn it, about a betrayal and a lost friendship. It's a story of love, of hatred, and of the dreams that live in the shadow of the wind."
"You sound like the jacket blurb of a Victorian novel, Daniel."
"That's probably because I work in a bookshop and I've seen too many. But this is a true story. As real as the fact that this bread they served us is at least three days old. And, like all true stories, it begins and ends in a cemetery, although not the sort of cemetery you imagine.
( Carlos Ruiz Zafón )
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