My books….

What, my books? (humph, harrumph!) should be over here, somewhere I think…
(shuffles, Badger-like, unshaven, in maroon dressing-gown and striped pyjamas to sagging bookshelves)
Well there’s this
and this
and this
and this, of course.
I wish you joy of them.
(retires, coughing, amid a haze of dust)

[some years later]

(Re-enters, clad as before, but even more dishevelled. Taps on screen)

You’re still here, then?
I suppose I should add this (I made it myself, you know).

(shambles away, muttering)

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